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08-22-2013, 05:36 AM
 The flesh torn from her crest burned as the mare felt the blood steam to the surface, bubbling over and spilling down her pale pelt like crimson tears that tainted the snowy blanket of fur. Her eyes watered from the pain, nostrils flaring as she sucked in a deep breath. The filly had reared alongside her, forcing her ivories in deeper before tearing the skin. It pained her, but the mare embraced the feeling. it seemed right that she, too, should bear the marks of this fight as a reminder of what she had done; of who she had battered. She was but a child; a foolish child yes, but a child nonetheless. She was green to the art of war, yet Artemis had not simply told her to leave with the other children. She was embraced the warriors scream and lashed out in retaliation at the dancers fury. She needed the reminders; she needed to remember. War never changed, yet never before had it felt so bitter. Her hooves had lashed out, making contact with flesh, but in the mist and gloom the steely gaze did not see where. Before she knew it, he hooves touched earth and her neck forced forward; her ivories finding flesh and latching on. Her neck throbbed in agony from the movement as she tried to tug her head back, teeth firm upon the fillies skin. Despite the pain, she managed it, and with eyes that widened she felt the familiar tearing of flesh. Stumbling back a step from the momentum of the pull, Artemis felt a small piece of flesh hanging from between her lips. Her mouth exploded from the taste of copper and she swiftly spat the meat down onto the dew masked grass. Through the mist and the gloom, she could see blood oozing down from the mares ear. it was difficult to see on the ebony fur, but it stained the badger mark crimson much like her own war paint. The ear was torn, one piece flopping over like the pages of a book. That was a mark that time would not cover up. Artemis lowered her head slightly, breathing heavily from the sudden clash. The bruise on her side was throbbing furiously as her rib cage heaved, and her knees quivered from the shallow wound that marked the joint of her right foreleg. From the movements of her rearing and kicking, the wound had bled more, causing streaks of angry red to taint her dark sock. Yet that was nothing compared to Laila. The dancer pirouetted, yet her movements were no longer darting or graceful, but fatigued and hopeless. The mare half reared as hooves raised to meet her chest, feeling them clip her knees and cause her wound to split open further. She snorted in pain, but her lips clamped shut and refused to cry out. As her legs met earth yet again, she favored the leg, unwilling to bare weight upon the battered knee. The filly had her back to the misty shrouded mare. She had given up. Artemis could feel it, resonating off her young body. There was no honour in attacking now; she had no blood lust, no need to induce further pain upon the filly. She took a step back, gently prodded her horn upon her rump away from the existing wound, and sighed. A tangle of creamy white fell over her crimson marking. "You fought well, little warrior." She murmured. She had no right to speak to the girl, she knew. She had a feeling they might meet again, and when they did, she knew Laila would be stronger. She knew, her own ear might be marked for the taking. Turning her back on the bloodied filly, she turned her attention to the fighting forms of her companions. With a pang of guilt, she realized she was unsure of who was friend and who was foe. Was it worth it? Word Count: 657 Ended, unless Laila wishes to take her final post. "Speak." |
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