he sucess of his attack had caused a vibrant grunt of hostile breath to escape the hobbit's throat upon impact, his teeth clenching and feathers splaying over the sweaty hide of his opponent. Take that! was what he wished to say, though generally the halfling kept all noice to a complete minimum for now and prove his actions could be mightier than words. Another wingbeat and each feather had drummed upon the traitors sheer skin, his horns bruising his nearside soulder and sending him off his feet. While his own attack was no match against Reichenbach's king hit, Pippigrin hoped it was at contender.

But again, the hobbit was sloppy. Only another wingbeat past and he was snatched once more from the air - Mr. Volterra had warned against such antics only days before. Though this time it seemed his opponent lacked in skill and precision like their Sultan had, his teeth only managing to rake against the side of his neck, clearing the area of hair and leaving a bruise for later it would seem. Today Pippigrin would not be grounded so easily, not even by another blow of those ferocious teeth.
SWOOSH! Another hammer of his wings was enough to save him from the ground, from yet another vicious attack, even as blood continued to run down his rump and trickle into his tail.

Taking his recovered flight to the right of his mongrel rival, Pippin forced himself to hide a great whince, a squeak of pain as he angled his hips for landing. So much damage, so much pain, and just from one nasty bite. He's be sure to seek out the physicians about this one - it was perhaps the worst wound he had ever sustained. Just that thought alone was enough to cause a tear to wriggle from the corner of his eye, his front feet touching the ground, soon followed by his wounded hind end.
Glazed, teary eyes found their way to his attacker, though would not dare to look into the silver irises he possessed fr fear of seeing a true monster. Pippigrin held dearly onto the sliver of hope that this was all just a misunderstanding. Perhaps it was a game, or just a really horrible joke!

His own gaze of silver and stone sweeping over his rival, Pippigrin noted quickly how he might go about his next attack. Being less than half the size of his opponent's came with great difficulty, especially when it came to planning attacks around simply not getting stomped on. Now standing but a small number of feet away from the great bay, the warrior gave a mighty snort through his nares (the kind you might expect to hear from a charging bull) and flared his wings in an attempt to use both his pennons and the wind's current to help support his bleeding, throbbing rump. It would be no easy battle having been so hideously wounded so early on, though luckily he had placed himself close enough for his next attack that he hoped he would not strain himself too terribly.

Instead of using his hind legs to launch off, the halfling instead stepped forth off of his front legs and allowed his back end to follow, beating his wings to give power from behind as he began his charge.
Turning further to his right, Pippigrin aimed himself directly in front of Reichenbach's offside hind leg; a slightly inconvenient location for his opponent, somewhat unreachable by most as long as the boy were to keep his pace up, though were the stag to turn or stop, a great kick or stomp would be easily served Pippin's way.
Now reaching up wich his own pair of teeth, Pippigrin aimed his jaws at one of the weakest place on his opponent's body; the flank. Mouth open wide, hooves trodding in the sand beside the victim, Pippigrin attempted to fix his mouth right around the weak, sensitive skin of Reich's right flank, trying his hardest to reach high up above and clamp his teeth upon it and wrench it down. That would be sure to send him howling.

Attack; 2/3
Words; 669
Summary; attempts to bite reichs flank!
Damage; 6;  a nasty, muscle deep wound to his nearside hind, high up on his rump. restricting his movement and bleeding lots.
1; skin graze + big bruise to his neck