It begins to rain.
His teeth meet little more than thin air and stray raindrops, clacking together disconcertingly as the dark body slips beyond reach. However, Jackal's face has precious few moment to remain whole as the giant's gigantic feet snap upward to meet it in a vicious kick. Being rather fond of the wholeness of his head, the thick neck, driven by the most primal of instincts, jerks backward sharply, rusty nose narrowly avoiding the most catastrophic of the foot's impact. He snorts harshly, ridding his nostrils of rainwater and stale air and snot, but suddenly, the swarthy behemoth's ass (as big of one as the dun had ever seen, he thinks with a snicker) begins to swerve toward him like a van deprived of a parking space, aiming a rather predictable kick to his shoulder.
Jackal grimaces into the driving downpour, hoping that for the sake of the Foothills, and the sanctity of his body, the Dauntless would drop dead.
Lady fate does not humor him today, and squinting furiously through the curtain of rain the color of his father's eyes, he catches only a flash of white before the Dauntless' hooves become airborne, flying toward the dun's shoulder like a pair of harpies scorned. With little time, the red dun gathers his weight onto the compact muscles of his haunches, lunging swiftly upward, forelegs clawing blindly through the air and water as if searching for wings to escape with.
As the dun ascends, Archibald's kick finds purchase on Jackal's left shoulder; their closeness lessens the effect of the blow, although it is strong enough to push Jackal's body sharply to the right. The muffled sound of horn on flesh conceals his pained grunt, and he stumbles several feet right of the Dauntless' memorable rump. Jackal grits his teeth in an attempt to subdue the pain of the draft's kick, before casting his figure forward through the darting rain, red mane slick against his neck.
The slippery footing, paired with his throbbing shoulder, makes the King of Thieve's charge forward, however rapid or careful, ginger and awkward. Striped hooves send chunks of sodden mud and grass hurtling through the air, like ridiculous downcast angels as Jackal continues ever forward, breathing labored and harsh, fueled by a love of the Foothills, and his own bitter pride.
From the haze of the dark sky, a glistening bronze body zips downward like an arrow toward Archibald's face, finding convenient camouflage in the confusion of raindrops, and the peripheral placement of equine eyes. Although their bond is mute, Dei has no trouble knowing when his companion needs him. The dragon spreads his jaws wide and unleashes a belly full of fire straight into bull's eye of the the Dauntless' starkly striped face, hoping to catch the black stallion off guard while his appaloosa attacks from the draft's right.
Jackal digs his heels into the drenched soil, using the momentum of his reckless headlong bolt to heave his nimble forebody through the air, grunting as his left shoulder aches with agony. He snakes his neck out in an attempt to catch the paunchy Shire's slippery crest between his ivory teeth; perhaps Goliath will be confounded by the dual attacks - after all, giants aren't known to be the wittiest of creatures. He strives to knock Archibald unbalanced once more, aware that his lithe weight may do nothing to affect this hulking slab of horseflesh - it's the least he can do.
While his maniac heart throbs uncontrollably in the cage of his ribs, Jackal hopes wildly that this victory will be his; he does not want his ancestors to be known as the blood of a traitor and a thief and a coward, but sing with pride when they receive the wisp of his soul in the afterlife.
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637 words
Jackal takes Archibald's kick in the left shoulder and is shoved to the right. He promptly charges forward, and while Dei swoops in and bellows fire into Archibald's face, he rears at Archibald's right shoulder and tries to bite his neck to knock him off balance.
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david and goliath, archibald challenge
