Around them, the air was steadily growing warmer as the day progressed. The full light of day would soon be amongst them to truly display this event of carnage, and the heat of Tallsun would strain the warrior’s bodies even more. Either way, they still had a job to do, and Apollo would not back down until it was all over and done with. He had sworn fealty to the Grey, and he would not turn away from that promise now, not when they needed him. He knew that his brothers and sisters in arms would think the same.

Leaping forward, tucking his head close to help brace for impact should he hit, Apollo’s eyes narrowed dangerously. He could see THAROS react, see him throw his bulk to the side, and when the healer sailed past without the jarring sensation that came with contact, Apollo knew that he had missed. Putting on the breaks, the black and white Paint once more pulled his rear haunches close to his body, tucking and sliding to a complete stop in the steadily drying grass.

Twisting his head, he was able to spot THAROS make a charge of his own, the grullo draft’s mouth snapping firmly towards his head. Apollo yanked back, but not before his horn was caught in the ensnaring maw of the larger brute. He grunted and stiffened all four legs, bracing himself for what might come. Fear trickled into his chest, for one wrong move and his neck could possibly snap… Yet it seemed that THAROS had other plans. The draft-mutt gave a jerk of his head, clearly trying to snap Apollo’s crystalline horn in two, but the sturdy appendage held. Instead, the overo gave a grunt of pain, his neck bending painfully to the side.

Oh, fuck this. Giving a furious snort, ears flat against his skull, Apollo braced himself and promptly yanked his head to the left, feeling the muscles in his neck pop and groan in protest. Oh, he would be sore tomorrow, that was for sure. The result, however, would hopefully be freedom; and with his ice-blue horn very much intact. Tossing his head and turning to face THAROS once more, Apollo was somewhat startled to see that he had paused to take a break. A break. What did he think this was? Playtime for foals? Deciding not to grace the older, perhaps senile stallion with his name or an answer of any kind, Apollo simply snorted once more. The grullo mutt’s words would soon be cut off anyway, for the beautiful fury that was the Sultana of the Dragon’s Throat soon joined them.

Muscles coiled once more, legs bending slightly as he prepared for another charge, yet THAROS seemed to beat him to the punch. The draft-mutt charged at him, and then promptly reared up. Where Apollo expected him to try and perhaps lash out with his fore-limbs, what happened next was completely and utterly dumbfounding. THAROS seemed to reach out, trying to brace his forehooves on Apollo’s back, to… What was he doing? Dear Holy Gods above… Was THAROS trying to mount him?! Panicking slightly, Apollo backpedaled, his hooves scrabbling for purchase on the slightly rocky terrain. His jerky movements and shuddering steps caused him to avoid THAROS’ attempt of using him as a mounting block… Or using him as a mare.

“What are you doing, you old coot?!” Apollo bellowed without meaning to, the words angry and offended. Not even bothering to wait for any kind of reply, Apollo went for an attack or two of his own. While THAROS was still close, Apollo gathered his weight towards the front of his body and dropped his head, collecting himself and twisting his hind-end towards the grullo mutt. The muscles in his neck protested at being clenched and used so cruelly, but the overo had other things on his mind. Giving a large snort, Apollo bucked out towards THAROS, aiming to crash his rear hooves into the exposed, left side of the mix-breed’s barrel. It would be winding, if it hit, not to mention painful and bruising and perhaps knock him off balance.

[Wordcount: 689. Attacking: THAROS.
Defense: Apollo rips his head away from THAROS to try and avoid his horn being broken, resulting in muscles pulled in his neck, and quickly backpedals the moment that he feels THAROS’ hooves upon his back to avoid being used as a stepping-stool.
Attack: While THAROS is still in range, Apollo tries to buck out at him and crash his hooves into the left side of his barrel.]

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