The hunter feels motion become him. The cold rushing of air is no longer simply a sight of the surroundings, it is his support amidst the chaos of the fray. Each cold gust, each thud of his hooves against the icing earth, returns him to reality. Frostfall is coming. So, too, is victory.

As his hooves successfully strike Faelon’s neck, he feels wild satisfaction begin to overcome the dull pain each second rearing brings to his thigh. He can push through it, he tells himself, if he can envision his success. Though he had watched with worry as Faelon reared, his strike against Faelon’s neck boosts his confidence. He calms himself as he watches his alabaster opponent, soothing his own nerves by reminding himself of how he has planned. He has expected a jab from the horn, he needs not fear it. It is this predictability that Knox foresaw and then moved to avoid; having come towards Faelon’s side at such a perpendicular angle, he is entirely out of the horn’s reach. With pleasure, he watches the gold dagger as it plunges forth, but feels only a rush of air from his left.

But Knox is not free from every move the andalusian makes. As the colt’s body falls naturally to the earth, soon to strike dirt instead of the withers as planned, he has moved inevitably closer to Faelon. Though the distance affords him time to easily grip Faelon’s neck as hoped, he feels, too, the intended knock of Faelon’s head against his own left shoulder. Knox’s positioning and descent skew its aim, but the hit is still there. He quickly loses his once firm and hopefully damaging grip on Faelon’s neck as the force of the smaller stallion pushes him away. Taken off guard, he falls faster and harder, his hooves impacting the earth as he lands somewhat shakily. For a moment, he is breathless and dazed- but only for a moment. Despite the distraction and the faint burn of pain spreading over his shoulder, he imagines Faelon will feel the impact to his skull just as severely.

It is this moment of hesitation that provides Faelon with the advantage over Knox. Though the colt sees Faelon running towards him, miraculously unhindered by the encounter, he only has just enough time to copy the motion himself and shift at an angle towards Faelon’s left flank as the unicorn heads for his own right. Though the colt feels the effort of battle weighing on him, he presses onwards, hoping to ram Faelon’s side.

Perhaps it is the focus on tactic or exhaustion creeping up on the ancestral hunter, but when he sees Faelon’s horn headed straight for his flank, it is in a panicked instant. The threat approaches in the corner of Knox’s vision, and he can only turn his body further away from the deadly weapon as he runs forward himself. The strike is, while not as damaging as intended, enough to draw blood. Knox groans and grits his teeth against a pained whinny as Faelon’s horn grazes his right thigh where he’d bucked it previously. Drops of thick, hot blood swell from the younger stud’s hind, forming a thin line along the surface wound.

Lucky, says a voice.
Not as lucky as I am to have you, Manhattan, he responds through the chaotic pain.

And so though Knox presses onward, stalwart and dauntless, running through his attempted ram and past Faelon, the pain and the sensation of failure slow every movement. He angles to turn in Faelon’s wake, hoping to circle back around so he might ram Faelon’s right, but he knows he won’t have the time if he does it alone. His blue eyes catch sight of Faelon rearing, but Knox is now far past the foolish challenger. With little more than a thought, he calls Manhattan to his aid. With nothing more than a movement, she obeys.

Her body darts out from the gathered crowd, her paws pounding against the earth and carrying her with practiced speed towards Faelon’s left. She uses her momentum to jump, perhaps recklessly but nonetheless with the aim of a hunter, and lets her jaws widen and snap. She aims for his left forearm, hopefully as he descends from his rear, and lets her poison flood from her fangs as she attempts to tear at his white flesh. Her attack is to be short lived, her landing neat, and her exit from the battlefield well timed, marked by her brushing by her master’s thundering hooves and her returning to the crowd. Afforded time and distraction, Knox gallops forth, carefully avoiding the possibility of a buck, to try to ram Faelon’s right shoulder. His neck curls over hopefully Faelon’s back, and once again, his teeth clench to bite the spine.

—

[[PC: 3/4+CD || WC: 799 || M/CU: 2/2 || N: Poison from Manhattan's bite will have negative effects for one post if the hit is taken.]]