Feeling his blow collide with its intended target, Apollo allowed a smirk to pull at his lips as his rear hooves came back to the ground, the sound of his weight muffled by the dense vegetation that was the Foothills. Bracing his rear haunches then, the stallion whirled around to the right, watching as THAROS was thrown off balance by himself, Kri, and the quaking earth used by Midas. The quakes in the earth caused Apollo’s form to falter, however, and his hooves scrabbled slightly for purchase for a few moments before the black and white Paint found balance. It was a team effort, but that didn’t mean it was yet over… Hopefully, however, THAROS would now understand the seriousness of the situation.

This wasn’t a game; it was war. In war, one didn’t have time for leisurely ‘breaks’ or moments to make chit-chat with your opponents. If THAROS was a warrior in his past, he was a poor one at that, and that was coming from someone who had refrained from fighting unless his life depended on it. By nature, Apollo was a gentle creature… He preferred to help and heal others rather than inflict pain and kill. It was times like this, however, fighting for his family and those that he loved that he found those morals flying out the window. For now, he would do what it took, even if that meant sticking his horn into THAROS’ flesh for a kill. Apollo gave a snort, the pain in his neck a constant reminder that he would need to plan his next attack carefully. The black and white overo watched with uncaring eyes as THAROS rolled head over tail and came to a stop beside AILITH. The grullo mutt pulled himself to his feet, preparing himself for battle once more, and that’s when Apollo made his next charge, albeit slower than his previous ones.

Pulling his weight together and inhaling sharply, Apollo pushed off the ground with his rear haunches, forehooves coming off the earth for the briefest of moments before he found himself barreling towards his opponent. Once more, ears tipped backwards, teeth gnashing, and Apollo slid to a stop before THAROS, bracing his weight upon his rear legs. Pushing himself into his own rear to meet THAROS’ head-on, Apollo lashed out with his forelegs, the sharp dagger of his hooves aiming to strike at THAROS’ head.

In the midst of his rear, Apollo felt THAROS’ teeth latch onto the high crest of his cheekbone, ripping away hair and skin. A rivulet of blood trickled down his cheek, and despite the pain it caused, the wound was trivial. It wasn’t near as bad as the wound that Apollo hoped to inflict upon his opponent in the next few moments… Landing roughly upon the ground, the unicorn tucked his head close to his chest. Hopefully that would pull him from the path of THAROS’ thrashing hooves. Just then, Apollo lashed out, aiming his horn at the sinewy tendons of THAROS’ neck. If THAROS happened to move out of the way, the stallion hoped he could at least land a scratch or two upon the grullo’s chest. He wanted his opponent to bleed, to feel the Grey’s wrath, for fighting for a hopeless cause…

Couldn’t this fool see that they had no hope? Their leader had abandoned them! The Foothills was condemned to failure before the fight even started. It would have been easier on everyone if they had simply given up peacefully.

[Wordcount: 582. Attacking: THAROS.
Summary: Apollo charges THAROS and rears up, aiming to smack him in the head with his hooves. Apollo takes a bite to the cheek, then tries to gouge his horn into THAROS’ neck/chest area.]

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