She was fast — she must've been ready for his sudden movement, or something, nerves pulled taut, for the moment his head whisked downward she jumped backwards and his horn nicked her dark skin.

At least he had achieved what he wanted, even if she had leaped back, because her horn was pointing harmlessly into the sky. His own finished its downward arc, aiming for her neck, the threat of pain spelled out so clearly in every line of his body. Ice cold and merciless, his face a blank mask, yet he never paused, always moved, effortlessly graceful as each movement melded into the next. To dream of succeeding — it would be foolish, she had shown how light she was upon her feet, but the knowledge of how it felt to split flesh hung tantalizingly upon the edges of his mind, and he couldn't help but hunger for it.

At the edges of his forward vision he saw her move, heard the warning click of her teeth as they closed upon air but cared naught for it, and in the next moment his horn collided with the flat bone in her shoulder, jarring him slightly and rattling his head. Frosted hooves came down hard upon the rocky ground as he found traction and pulled back, blood glinting off the tip of his horn; his neck throbbed for a moment from absorbing the impact. Delinne was backing away, and in a fluid motion he spun to face her. Gritting his teeth, Mauja gave his head a small shake, thankful he hadn't been able to put more power behind the blow; in a game of raw strength he could probably pound her to a pulp, but he'd rather not sprain his neck accidentally trying to pierce bone.

But there was no time to waste on thoughts, and he knew she was quick-footed. Mauja's muscles were tense, prepared to react, and when the moonlight gleaming upon her dark hide changed, the play of muscles heralding an attack, he was ready for it. Instincts clashed, and merged into something both terrible and beautiful: a rush of power, so much stronger than adrenaline, erupted in his chest, his blood cooling as the snowbeast in his soul clawed its way out. Filled up by a sense of maddened, dark elation he lifted his front end off the ground, and while he pivoted left it opened up, ice rising majestically into the dark sky. One, to separate them; it scraped against his right shoulder as it drove into the sky, a cold touch against his hot body, the caress of an old familiar friend, but more so a shield to keep her horn from him. Two, rising close to her sides to hem her in, maybe even split her skin as they grew to tower above them both, a fourth behind her to block her escape — and a final one shooting from the ground beneath her, to fulfill every dark desire pounding in his blood. Five spikes of frigid ice pulled from the depths of his soul, rising simultaneously in a deadly salute.

Landing, Mauja leaped forward a stride, elegant in his precision and cold in his determination. All of a sudden he felt excited, alive, the air in his lungs cold and sweet; bright-eyed he stood, watching the monuments of ice, poised just on the edge of movement yet smiling in anticipation. Blood was beautiful on ice, didn't you know?

[ 2/4 :: 573 words ]

Mauja Frosthjärta