| Hidden Account |
| Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16hh :: 8 |
| M.E. |
....Did that hurt you...?
Those sharp, cloven hooves never quite made their mark; the dappled stallion balked in his movement, his body coiled and tensed as his ears caught wind of an agitated bleat not too far ahead of him. Being devoid of the passionate outbursts usually associated with his sex, Sin’s hesitation left him hanging awkwardly in the air, his forehooves suspended without aim or direction; he quickly backed up on his hind legs, giving a snort and a toss of his many dreadlocks as the king- crowned ram made his threat and his challenge. The ram turned out to be a quick little spitfire though; as Sin’s hooves made their decent to the snow-packed ground, the Disciple gave a quite involuntary grunt of pain as he felt those ridged horns dig into his shins. Sin was forced to back up several steps, his retreat careful as he minded the slippery footing, before he was sure he was away from the danger and he sat analyzing the situation.
He felt no fear from his trial; though his blood pulsed and pounded in those dappled ears of his, there was no trepidation or anxiety willing Sin’s limbs to shake. No, what thudded through the dappled-one’s veins was a sort of excitement; it was quite an unfamiliar thing for Sin to feel, these base passions of a predator, but they weren’t totally unknown to the stallion. Try as he might to suppress them, Sin periodically had these brushes of primal desire—the last instance of which he had pined for the wings of some cosmic-patterned dumpling of a Pegasus he had met in the Threshold, long ago.
As the scene lay out before him—a bold, obviously enraged ram protecting his scattered herd of ewes from the interloper—Sin’s eyes began to take in those details that projected in his mind some sort of plan of attack. He supposed going after the ewes on their own would be easy enough; they made no move to protect themselves, only scurrying away on those stubby little legs as though they were taking them places. However, Sin also knew his quarry were an agile lot, and figured it would take some time to wear them down long enough to skin them. Should I wait for them to die before I attempt to take their hide? Sin asked himself, an honest, studious question as his icy glare caught the dull gleam that emanated from the ram’s horns. Sin’s interest immediately caught at the sight; he dimly remembered the Weaver saying something about his venom-maw’d hellhoud, and how the pup wished for a bone to chew on idly. A mere bone? Sin wondered, a devilish, brilliant idea forming in his brainpan, I wonder how the hell-hound Talbot would react to a horn to gambol about with? I suppose he would be well pleased with it, yes.
And so, the Disciple made his decision; he would mark the scurrying legs of the retreating ewes and memorize their escape routes should he need to pursue them—but his main prey for now was the very cornerstone of their herd: the ram who boldly stood between Sin and his prize.
As knowledgeable the Disciple may be, Sin knew good and well he had no experience in fighting whatsoever; any brutish challenge made by other studs of old were instantly rebuffed by the retreat of the dappled stud. Regardless, he lowered his spiraled horn in preparation of attack; in his mind, this was no mere fight, but a scientific pursuit that would culminate to the acquisition of his monocle. As vain as that venture might be, Sin had convinced himself it was a venture of science; there was no talking him out of it. He was decided.
With a hard snort, Sin suddenly broke for the ram, his head lowered threateningly and his spiral horn ready to lock. It was not a piercing stiletto instrument used by many of his race; no, Sin would use his horn to lock is opponent into place. And crush them.
[Ignores the ewes for now; goes after ram, his head lowered so he may head-butt the ram]
...Forgive Me...
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Come Little Black Sheep (Sin Questing)
