Damage check. Snö mused, testing the tender condition of her pearly neck. The wound inflicted was crassly created, with the rough tines of the antlers creating more scrapes than actual wounds, yet nevertheless marring her appearance far more than she liked. Likely she was not badly wounded around her creamy neck was because of the antlers' natures- on elk, and deer, and caribou, they were meant in order to rut, to crash heads and lock, but not to kill or harm. It was sore, because of the force put behind it with the huge stallion's red-painted bulk. But it would heal- hopefully not with scarring. Perhaps it would give her air-de-warrior, but she preferred her body gorgeous as ever, not banged up.
It was a pity, she reflected, that her hooves had hit only empty air, sending her in a rather slapdash manner running along, unable to stop as quickly as she would've preferred. Every time she put weight along her forehand, the wound on her neck throbbed in pleading protest. Princess, Snö scolded herself, shaking her head firmly. Yes, she was a princess, daughter to Mauja the FrostHeart and Psyche the DarkEmpress. No others she had ever heard of could boast of such royal lineage, and for that she preened herself. Even Tamlin was only the offspring of a slut. Yet she had to be strong, together, and sharp despite her age. She needed to be powerful, just as her father was, and her mother, as much as she may be unwilling to admit her mother was anything more than a run-away mare. After all, mother hadn't become the Dark Empress for nothing.
The ground was slippery underneath, devouring the sparkling light that poured in through the thin sheets of glassy ice and hard snow that made up the tunnels of the glacier. Every step had to be done carefully, eyes wary of treacherous footing that could throw her to the ground and betray her. Even Tarak seemed to be struggling, until he began to sink his toenails in deep, where they made a hideous sort of screech as they scraped along. The sound wasn't too loud in itself, but in the echoing caverns...
It was strange, chasing this pegasus. What did he have to be afraid of? She was just an innocent little girl, aft- black wings buffeted, hooves skidded. Quickly as she could, Snö reined herself in, back-pedaling, nearly dropping onto her hind-end in her composed haste to stop, before she went flying into the great, furry, winged (hideous) obstacle, and eliminating the thread of charging head-long into him. Here, the cave was larger, considerably so, with much more room. So this stallion was smarter than he looked. In the tighter cave, Snö with her height difference and more compact build, she would've held the advantage on the turf. On the other hand, Buttercup as she named the pegasus (the name mainly because it gave her amusement) was longer in the leg as a Hanoverian, but then again, they were known for fancy feet work. A pity that was.
Quickly as she could without rushing over details, Snö gauged the situation. First, they were still in the hall. As soon as entering the cave, he had turned about, with her being twenty paces behind him, she had not yet entered. Tarak was to her right, standing a step before her. Gaucho was coming in, already only five strides away. The tunnel could fit roughly four horses abreast here, opening up to the much larger cave. There was room to maneuver, but only just, even for her smaller form- and the ugly Buttercup was charging head-long at her.
Instead of moving, Snö waited, patient, cool, calm. Long legs. That was the key. The pale mare twisted to the left length-ways, blocking the tunnel, and she moved her head to the right, horn aimed towards the stallion's wings, pressing her hindquarters against the wall. It was then the snake struck out at her, gleaming white, but she was safe. Doing the instinctive reaction, she had tucked her head to protect her throatlatch, and twisted her head downwards, so the fangs slipped across her mane without nerve endings.
As the stallion moved towards her in order to buff her against the wall, she broke into a swift gallop, shoulder scraping against the ice, lashing out with her hinds as she went, aiming for his back end, well aware he could easily retaliate. Then, swiftly and smoothly, she turned, cantering forward with her head lowered, veering off slightly to the right, horn lowered and ready to spike him in the ass.
[WC: --- || 2/3 attack]
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[complete] Skills to Hone [Gaucho]
