I would not go so far as to call myself fat. However, it may be noted that I am round, very round. This is not the form of gelatinous round you might see in the shapely elders who spend their days grazing. My figure is more of a solid, hard rock-face of musculature. Regardless, my barrel is round, with my withers tucked neatly on my back and hardly visible behind robust wings. The lady-like figure many mares may kill for died in my earlier years. I buried it under hard work and training. The point - stallions are naturally robust. I had to work for it.

I am confident in my strength, yet Gaucho is still a giant which worries me. He is broad and tall, and despite all of my training, I fear more of a brute. As my dark eyes note that he is turning a shoulder downward in my angle, now bedecked with sharp spikes, I feel a quiver of doubt in my belly. A friendly spar. However, the lack of understanding in Gaucho's mind at the start of this battle has me doubtful. With the night chasing my heels, I move swift as possible.

My right wing flares up. First, I would have it cleared from the aim of those dreadful spikes. Second, the feathered appendage raises toward what I hope to be the unsuspecting right side of Gaucho's brawny face. I have committed too much of my power into this charge and kick to deftly dodge the spikes completely, but I would spare what is most precious to me. The spikes crash into the upper end of my shoulder by the base of my neck, and, at first, I feel no pain as they slide into flesh. It is more of that grotesque, step by step moment in your brain where you feel the damage being done, but you do not really feel it. It's not until the evening air claps back toward my bleeding flesh that I let out a grunt of surprised pain, feeling the knives that had their teeth sunk into me moments before. Despite the pain which makes my senses blot red, I drive forward. One cannot stop the wind from blowing. You cannot stop me.

My hoof strikes out clean and unhindered, from what I assume would be his distraction from his own attack. It lands neatly in the underbelly, and I smile with gruff enthusiasm as I feel the push back of muscle and bone. His ribcage is protecting him well today.

And then, I was clear, skittering past his frame on speeding limbs. The joy I felt at my successful attack was short lived, for I heard the pounding of hooves in the growing darkness as night fell swiftly. Had we been in the air, Gaucho likely would have been bested on speed for a good while until his mammoth frame could build up enough momentum to catch me. On the ground, however, his long limbs made short work of my own small paces, and soon he was upon me. I note the sway of his head as he comes closer to my side, racing up but staying out of the range of my back legs. I smirk. So, the caveman learns. The throw of his wing tells me that his attack is coming and fast, but I am never one to allow such offenses easily.

Instead, I throw my right shoulder heavily toward Gaucho's left side, aiming to heave my chest toward the meeting of his shoulder and barrel, mindful of the spiked collar, while my teeth race upward toward the curled neck of Gaucho as his antlers strike for me. Instead of my already battered right shoulder, they scrape upon my left shoulder, loosening hair and small bits of flesh, stinging pain, but at least the claws of the strange appendages will not find their way into the chasms caused by the bone spikes earlier. Should my attack land, I would be hurting, but much less than flesh torn asunder once again. I hope that my burly stature will cause the brute some pain as well, or at the very least catch him by surprise.
""

[ WC: 738; 3/3; 0/2 MC; BULK and AIM.
/wipes brow. CUTTING IT CLOSE, but I couldn't let it default. <3 ]