There are moments in life that you remember with perfect clarity. Today is one of those days. The throb of my heart in my ears, the slap of my hooves upon solid, frozen terrain, the whine of wind through my hair, the taste of iron in my mouth, the scent of pine and ice in my nares, and the vision of a certain dark colored mare in the night.
I do not know if it is some trick of the realm of Time locking in this memory so vividly, or just the intensity of my spirit in this day. However, I will never forget my battle with this shadow mare.
Regardless of the outcome, then, perhaps it is her victory to live on in my mind.
I do not like losing.

My legs smack upon her body, but if I make my mark or not is unclear. I do hear the gasp of a breath caught in her chest. I smile with murderous intent. All of my honor, my loyalty, and my strength, it rests upon the edge of a blade thrust by the Basin. If I cannot aid my allies, what use am I to them? If I cannot protect my herd, what good am I as their Commander? At the very least, this girl will understand my rage, my frustration. Stand in my way, and I will crush you. Surely, she understands.

I charge, watching the curve of her neck as she prepares her sword to slice my flesh. So be it. I do not hesitate, I do not falter, I continue my rush forward, the wind's whine growing to a dull roar as it races in front of me, breaking upon the tree trunks like a wave upon the shore.

Her horn skewers my right shoulder, I feel the bristling of pain upon my body. I feel the blood beginning to pull forward, unleashed, as her horn drags up with her body. She raises, though not far enough to be out of my reach, horn dragging up and out of my body, leaving behind a sizable gash drawing the pattern of her lift. I do not stop, nor falter, nor show any hint of the fact that I felt anything. Let her peel her face in agony; the most she will get from me is tacit acceptance of injury. I rise, ignoring the feeling of hooves displaced to the midsection of my barrel, my own forehooves plummeting forward. A feeling of flames on my back, a solid bruise on the muscles over my ribs later. A rocky expression, torn with determination and fire in my eyes, pushes through such distractions. The wind showing all of my ferocity, my anger, my frustration. My hooves hitting their mark. A small breath escaping her lips, my own curving upward in fiendish delight. Then, I feel it.

A pulse, radiating from her body, my hooves curving back down to the earth. I feel it shaking forward, the same barrier which had knocked me cold on the floor. The same, nattering sound of pure energy - spark. I am prepared this time, however, flaring my wings at last minute, possibly hitting her right barrel in the process, allowing myself to be blown backward, only having two hooves planted. I skid, unable to find traction on the permafrost, my wings barely able to keep me from toppling over as a wall of energy shoves me hard toward the left, leaving my body with an odd tingling sensation from head to hoof.

My forehooves land, my back end continues to slide until I am curved back to face toward the right side of Faelene, my eyes glinting with menacing fire. "The same trick will not work twice," I say, my tones gruff like a stallion, the winds racing back to follow me, rustling my mane in gentle reassurance. I quiver, either from the chill of the night or excitement, I am uncertain. "You would do better to get out of my way." Honesty. Did this girl really think she would stop me? Did she really think her loyalty would overcome my hatred in this moment?

Without waiting for her answer, I turn my body and race toward her right hind, hiding the pain of each step, unwilling to give in. I prepare my left shoulder to bulldoze into her flank, saving my injured shoulder the pain. I may be shorter, but I am but a tank of muscle. Years and years of fighting, training, and building upon myself. Whatever natural strength this girl had would simply not overcome my hard work. I would not allow it.
She would get out of my way or give in to me a bloodied mess. Her call.

[ WC: 789; 3/4; MC: 1/2; Kri is using buffs SWIFT and NUMB. ]