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I was cold. I don’t think I have ever been this cold, not in my whole life. The rain just keeps on pouring as we begin spinning downwards, the beat of our wings hardly keeping us aloft. Mine at least, are soaked through, even with their water-shedding properties- they are big, freezing things that have iced over towards the tips. Slowly they have become heavier and heavier through the morning, the only reprieve they ever had when I was nearly struck by that flash of lightning; but that did not last even a second.
The water dripping from the Sultana does hit me, and I can faintly smell the anger emitting from her. Maybe I was right- she is a little hotheaded. It seems we are quite alike. Where do our differences lie in our minds? I think the difference is… I’m not sure. She does not strike me as the same type of honorable as Leander, the Lionheart, but she does not strike me as a conniving thief and stealer. What do I think of her? I know hardly anything.
Just as I have evaded her, apart from the first attack, she has slowly and annoyingly become so that none of my attacks have landed on horseflesh; her skin is not bruised, not now. It seems that each of us only has landed one, two blows. I do, of course, understand that, and prefer it; but it is annoying neither of us can seem to really knock the other out of the sky. Flying is a difficult game to end, unless it is of endurance, in which case, after hours of flying, eventually one would lose. But neither of us want to take hours.
Do I, did I, know of the risky, reckless movement I had just taken coming up to bite her legs? Well, yes. I’m Svetlana, not an untried filly. What other choice do I have? I bet I would hardly be able to fly past her with her damned wind magic. Her voice is silky and filled with anger- perhaps she is sick of this fucking rain too. She does land, but I will not allow my wings to be touched again. My left shoulder stiffens in pain, crying out as she drags me downwards. The wind is a howling, buffeting thing as we enter the midst of the storm, rain slashing in my eyes, thunder grumbling in my ears.
It is a lightning strike that saves me, the blinding white cracking down hardly more than a meter away. My left wing, which has been folded tightly to my flank, in order to avoid any blows, has made me move perpetually right, as I distribute most of my mass onto my off-side flank with a tip of my body. But even as I feel her weight pressing down on me as we go flying through downwards, I pray the gods will be on my side.
To describe the next move is like trying to describe something filled with unknown words to someone who speaks a different language. I flip over, so in the sense, my back is to the earth still very far below; and my wings, the wings I have always loved, snap open; and there is the wind-whistle from speed and pressure. And now, Kri has no shoulder to hang onto; and if I am lucky, she will be free-falling towards earth in a scramble, and so I flip over again, with difficulty.
There I come after her, ignoring the condensed blood on my poll and the scrapes my wings and shoulders, there I come with my wings pulled in close, there I come with my teeth bared and ears pinned. My wet mane— no, wet is too gentle a word, it was soaked through, clinging to my satin neck as I tried to follow her in this mess of a storm. Somewhere I catch a downdraft, and I come speeding up next to her, wherever we are now for I cannot tell in this blend of gray clouds and rain; and I squeal at her, for lack of words.
I try to knock her first, for I am mostly even with her, trying to avoid buffeting wings, and so I veer, sharply-so, towards her, even though it is easily avoided—and my wing comes slipping down under hers so it would hit her flank, for it is longer than her wings, at least, I think; and my neck turns and my teeth bare to nip her wing strong and good. If I were to get a solid hold on those primaries, I could rip them out, condemn her to be distracted to saving herself- and fly on to victory.
Maybe if I got a mouthful of feathers I would win.
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Word Count: 800
Attack: 4/4
sometimes i wonder what i'm trying to do in this life.
but mostly i just want to fly.
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Nothing to Lose [Kri Challenge]
