It was ironic, Apollo had decided, that such brutality would take place upon a peaceful land. The black and white overo stood passively next to his family, sucking in breaths of air to try and calm his racing heart. His thoughts had been wandering, recalling what he and Phaedra had spoken so intimately about before he had left for the war… Admitting his love for her during such a tumultuous time had been risky, but he couldn’t go out and possibly face his death without letting her know how he truly felt about her. She had become his reason for existing, his reason for breathing, and his reason to fight.

… I will return to you.

Beneath his hooves, the grass was lightly matted with a sprinkling of morning dew. The sky was clear with the oncoming morning, the sun behind them warming his back in almost a soothing gesture. Giving a snort once more, the stallion gave his head a rough shake to clear his head. Now was not the time to allow his thoughts to wander. Now was the time for war. Life and death were amongst them, and should his thoughts stray from this point on in any way, it could result in his demise.

Directing his attention to the gathered members of the Foothills, he sized them up, pondering just who their leader was. No one truly seemed like leader-esque material here so far… Then again, perhaps, he knew that not every leader was as devoted to their own as Ktulu and Ophelia were. They would thrive, the Grey, and with the Dragon’s Throat at their aid, the stallion knew it would only be a matter of time until the remaining members of the Foothills felt their fury.

There was silence for a moment, the only sound the echoing of his heartbeat in his ears. Then, came the charge. In the distance Apollo’s honey-brown orbs spotted the Sultana of the Throat take to the air from their spot of cover, her loyal soldier’s following without question, but he had little time to track their movements for much longer before his muscles coiled in preparation, rear haunches pushing himself forward into the fray. Apollo refrained from bolting directly into a gallop during the charge, for he knew that doing so could cause him to lose his footing in the damp grass. Nostrils flaring and lungs heaving, the stallion bent his head slightly as he set his pace at a slow canter, spotting a larger, grullo stallion charging his way. He couldn’t place just what kind of draft this oncoming stallion was, but he didn’t care. In the distance the mountains stood almost like silent judges, pale witnesses to the carnage that was about to happen in their lower lands.

Immediately Apollo sized him up, comparing them, allowing his thoughts to race between how to go about this fight. THAROS, being a draft mutt, would perhaps move slower, hindered by his own bulk, so Apollo knew that speed could very well be his greatest ally here. While not as nimble as an Arabian, as a Paint, Apollo hoped that he would have a slighter increase of maneuverability on his side. Eyes narrowed and ears tipped back in anger, the distance between himself and THAROS decreased, and soon THAROS made his first move.

The draft-mix pushed himself off the ground with his rear legs, angling himself to Apollo’s left side, and the overo gritted his teeth as he felt the larger stallion’s shoulder brush against his own. It caused his gait to falter and slow, but that was the least of his worries. In passing, THAROS aimed a buck at Apollo’s side, and the Painted stallion feigned to the right in an attempt to put as much distance between himself and THAROS as possible. He felt the draft-mutt’s hooves graze his side, ripping hair from his hide, and the Unicorn grit his teeth in pain. It would leave a nasty bruise, not to mention an unsavory patch of hairless skin. Perhaps if they hadn’t been side by side, THAROS’S attack would have been more effective.

It all happened in seemingly less than a second, and in the next moment they had passed one another, Apollo avoiding THAROS’ rear due to the pull of forward momentum that skirted him safely beneath the deadly daggers of THAROS’ hooves. Apollo dropped his shoulders and tucked in his rear haunches, stiffening his front legs and allowing himself to come to a sliding stop. It was somewhat difficult and less than spectacular to behold, due to the grass being stained with morning dew, and upon coming to a complete stop, the Painted stallion whirled around, barring his teeth. It was then that he noticed Midas, the Pegasus that he had met in the Spectral Marsh seasons ago… The armored Pegasus was attacking THAROS as well, and Apollo decided to take his chance while THAROS was hopefully preoccupied with the mass of hooves that tried to rain down upon him. Pushing himself off the ground once again, Apollo tucked his head close to his body, neck arching as he poised his horn for the attack. Breaking into a canter, Apollo charged THAROS head-on, aiming to thrust his crystalline horn deep into the draft-mutt’s neck or chest, or, if THAROS moved out of the way, somehow maim the thick, fleshy muscles of his toned deltoid.

[Wordcount: 899
Buffs: None | Attacking: THAROS
Defense: Takes the brush to the shoulder and attempts to distance himself (to the right) from THAROS to take less of the kick to his side. Due to forward momentum, as they’re both charging each other, Apollo avoids THAROS’ rear by passing him.
Attack: Once spun around to face THAROS once more, Apollo charges with his head tucked close to his body and tries to drive his horn into THAROS’ chest/deltoid area.]

I can never fight for myself, but, for others, I can kill."