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Conversation is a tedious labyrinth of concocted words and crafted lies, sinister murmurs and delicate whispers, carefully posed questions and dark threats. If you dare to enter its perilous halls, you open yourself to a world of danger. A single wrong turn will led you to dead ends, doom yourself to awkward silences, bring yourself enemies or even, perhaps, create friends, if you are lucky. And if, perhaps, one is even more lucky, they may find they will easily, or not so easily, avoid the maze altogether. One day, I hope that I can once and for all find a way to truly and well convey the delicacies of a rippled wing or wrinkled muzzle, a way to cheat myself out of what I consider a jive. Perhaps I become a little theatrical. I am not so dramatically inclined to exaggerate everything I say- in other words, I am by no means a thespian- but I must honestly say I was rather... climatic about the whole manner of gossip and chit-chats. Simply, I'm not quite as inclined to engage as quickly as other horses in Helovia, and for most part, it works quite fine, for it seems my silence is almost contagious to a great many I have communicated with. I say communicate because, well, I haven't always talked.
I flex my primaries, opening them wider to catch the warm heat spiraling upwards from below, and up I glide, enjoying the simple, familiar movements that come easily to me from thousands of repetitions and years upon years of evolution.
The wind is gentle, but with a peaceful wariness I notice the way the clouds are scudded, rippling horse tails, a sign of high altitude wind. My heart twists as a sudden memory of torrential rain and mud, of falling into water and feeling its clammy hands squeezing my lungs, and though the sky is blue my mouth goes dry, and down I soar, my feathers crimping slightly in the brisk breeze. That night in the rain might've been the worse night I've experienced in all my years. Honestly, I wasn't even sure it had been during the night; the lashing rain had wiped away all sense of reality, sight, scent, hearing, and even touch, I had been so soaked and so chilled.
It is then I hear the bugle, the trumpeting challenge, and at about a hundred feet from touching down I snap back my wings, straining the muscles and wincing, startling horrendously by the sudden sound, and my eyes seek out the challenger. Flaring my sails, I catch the wind, and hesitantly drift downwards, circling ever more slowly, ears flicking backwards uncertainly. I say, however, I am pleased to skip over the treacherous introduction. My hooves touch down, and I land exceedingly graceful for once, light wind toying with my charcoal mane and tail. I pose a stunningly serene smile at the stallion, as if I had not a care in the world, and wonder if he would fall for such deception, if he would realize I met to put him off guard. I'm not a particularly vindictive individual, not at all, and I dislike deception, but part of this is a simple test. After all, I would not have landed unless I was willing to respond to his bold declaration of seeking battle.
I think we are evenly matched, perhaps me even at advantage, for he is slim and of the same height, while I am more muscular even though I am a mare. Power I may hold more, but speed will be on his side. I like this. An even playing field, and that means it will come down more to the mental aspect than regular brute muscle.
I shan't offer my name, not until we commence this, and, keeping my wings neatly tucked to my dark sides, dance forward, light-footed, the soothing rhythm of my heart beating swift in my charcoal chest. To my right I twist, snapping open my left wing and aiming a buffet of my wing to his neck. For if I had wished to flutter at his head, I risk a snap of his teeth at my plumage.
Second, I shift my weight, tucking my wing back tight to the flank, and lash out to aim at the soft flesh of his shoulder, hoping to give him a solid bruising, but never will there be garuntees in battle. Bruises may hurt, but they certainly would not break him. The earth is solid under my hooves, stoic and ungiving under me, and I am glad there is no rain to slip me up.
Inhale, exhale. Just breathe.
I am overjoyed to play once more; to forget whatever complications trouble me during the day, and just live in the moment.
WC: 796
Post: 1/3 not including defense post
Summary: Runs to his left, her right, lashes out at his neck with her wing, angles herself and kicks out at his shoulder. My first battle post ever! :D
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[JUDGED] Into the Fire [Andromeda]
