The seconds ticked by and for what felt like eternity he burned until, finally, it stopped. His body that was tensed in pain felt relief flood through it and d'Artagnan made a shaky sigh. There were no burns on his body, no blood, just a dull ache in his shoulder from when Aaron had smacked him. For a split second, everything seemed quiet and peaceful, no searing flame spreading through his body. He was okay! He wasn't dying. It was a moment of joy short lived as the thunder of hooves finally registered in his mind, dual eyes narrowed as he turned to see the painted warrior charging straight for him. In a quick fire decision, d'Artagnan bolted from the spot he had been stood and made a dart to the side to dodge the attack of Aaron. As he did so, he felt the rush of the bare head's body on the side of his, barely the connection was made but it was enough to send the shade scampering sideways at the contact. Wincing as his shoulder screamed in protest, just like Aaron screamed like a wet newborn.

The momentum he was carrying finally came to a halt and the sides of the blood bay heaved in weariness, nostrils flaring as he went after more air. Sweat collecting in his pits, on his neck and between his legs. A trail of steam following him wherever he went. The battle must now be over. There wasn't much left either of them could throw at each other, it was just a question of who would crumble first. "Too rash boy." He puffed out in his gruff tones. "For the right price your mother will be returned, but if you've got the strength left. Go take her" a smile of malice sat pretty on his features then. To decide whether the battle was won would decide on whether he had successfully deterred Aaron. Tail flicking from side to side, swatting the flies that had come to feast on his sticky body.

The day was growing long and d'Artagnan looked up at the retreating light, the battle was over and he no longer had a reason to linger. He hadn't been disgraced at least, and he wasn't dead. With a heave of his sooty legs, the Nightshade began to walk away from his foe, eyes searching for the pool that never froze. Throat parched, his gait had a limp to it and he dipped when he walked. He'd patch it up later, for now he was too tired to use his time magic on something so trivial.

[w/c :: 434 || Defence Post
ooc commentary :: d'Artagnan dodges Aaron's charge by darting out to the side, barely missing him and being pushed sideways by the minimal contact. He then says a few words and leaves the battlefield with a limp]