he stone angel crawled joyfully over the dunes, wings flared and more than ready for the day ahead. A guardian of the Throat he had been dubbed! His tasks were set, and now an array of responsibilities lay at his feet (Responsibilities that he’d try his hardest to ignore the pressures of.)
Since his battle with the great behemoth Volterra, their Sultan and King, Pippigrin felt reasonably equipped for his next battle, for now, under his belt he possessed the knowledge passed to him by the great words of a most seasoned warrior, one who had seen more battle than all the hobbits from Over-The-Hill combined three times over.

All ten hands of Pippin had made it up the dune, one of the tallest on their island, and he gazed with reverence over the brilliant sunrise of coruscating, gem-like sand specks and orphic, watercolour sky.
To Pippigrin who had regularly seen sunrises over water in his childhood, it was the treeless, snowless mountains composed only of sand that truly completed this masterpiece of a landscape, and with the wind lapping at each of his feathers, it only felt even more surreal.

Hobbits weren’t usually the kind to stop and admire landscapes or art; they weren’t exactly the dreaming nor bohemian kind. If they ever did dream, it was usually about a sweet mouthful of perfect meadow grass or something entirely food related - only ever dreaming in black and white, the greyest, most dull dreams and hopes.
Pippin, though; he dreamed in colour. In every colour of the sunset he currently stood at the foot of, a speck in the eye of a merciless golden sun. In all the colours of the forest, the mountain and dales, the seaside too.

It was then that he caught the sight of a figure approaching, one lit magnificently by a shimmer of newborn sun. It was the great, tall stag known to him as Mister Reichenbach - another warrior in the ranks. The largest of grins appeared on the halfling’s face, his sand-swept fetlocks pressing into the giving ground below.
There was something terribly urgent about Mr. Reich’s pace, in fact, he ran quite quickly in Pip’s direction, or so the boy deduced. Was he not going to slow down and say his hellos? not even a good morning? Hm.
Tearing his eyes from the approaching bay, who he could only assume was only on his way past, Pip gave the slightest of sighs. He would have liked to have stopped for a chat, even if it was quick.

What came next was a blur, the kind that could only be described as a flash or a whistle of wind, and before he knew it, he was being knocked and dragged under the jaws and hooves of the bay gent.
Having reached for his rump, it seemed Reichenbach had caught more than he’d bargained for when the back end of the halfling was swept upward, sending the little brute into the ground with a hard crash and THWACK of bone-against-bone.

It took a few long moments for the little beast to come to terms with what had actually happened, though all judgement was clouded by the remarkable pain stemming from his rump. A meaty, raw, gaping wound now collected sand as he lay sprawling in the dirt, startled and gasping.
“I thought-“ The little colt gasped, clambering up onto both front hooves, dragging his back end along the sand momentarily “I thought you were my friend!?” He spoke to the bay, eyebrows furrowed with anger and rock-hard betrayal.
Clearly, he had not heard Reichenbach when he cheered about sparring.

Finally on all four feet, Pippigrin gave a gruff snort; one of anguish and fury. “I thought you were my friend!” He boomed once more, a tear or two now beginning to well in his eyes as the vicious pain built in his hind end. Taking a number of limping steps forward, Pippin found that it restricted his movement quite terribly and caused him to hobble; that leg would be useless for the remainder of the fight.

So, he would rely on the pair of limbs that he owned and Reichenbach did not; his two stone-coloured pennons. Beating them with all the force he could muster, Pippin allowed his wings to carry him up and away from Reichenbach, only to turn upon the aiding wind currents and direct his flight right in the direction of the bay stag, crown bowed and at the ready for what he hoped to be one impressive swoop. Two dagger-like horns pointed in the direction of his so-called friend, Pippin attempted to ram the stag from above with the propulsion and force of wind and gravity on his side.

Attack; 1/3
Words; 798 (on pages)
Summary; Pippin doesn't know that Reich is just sparring lmfao and thinks hes attacking him for real because the injury is so bad. Takes reichs attack to the rump and is knocked over upon impact.
He then proceeds to fly upwards and zoom around on the wind current, using that as an aid to help him swoop with his horns lowered in the direction of Reich with the aim of ramming him.
Damage; - 6;  a nasty, muscle deep wound to his nearside hind, high up on his rump. restricting his movement and bleeding lots.