A buckskin soldier came forward, as I knew one eventually would. This opponent bore antlers, and was impressively built. Intelligence slipped forward and another face came into my mind; one of very similar proportions. Could this girl be related to my best Sergeant, Guacho? I stiffened unintentionally as she drew close. Her full size was realized, and to my dismay I had to tilt my cranium high for the simple task of regarding. A wary smile started tugging at both ends, my mind was already calculating advantages and disadvantages. The girl was massive, a framework of muscle and hair. Whereas I was small by natures grand plan, fleet as buck, and thankfully blessed with wings. Each size had their advantage.

“Excitement stirs your soul, yes? It’s mutual. I am Avalon.”

My wary smiles flicked higher into a borderline smirk, “I’m Midas,” I said simply, neither boldly or with soft tone. Titles had little meaning for those that took the sands; my ranking could easily be undone by a better opponent. To hold privileges, one had to be of a stout heart. Like Kri. Muzzle slithers down a notch, tucking toward my throat in a sort of nod that was respectful for our culture. From one warrior to another, we would welcome each other as brother and sister.

She paces off, and my wings slowly start to extend out of readiness. On the ground I couldn’t easily take her, that strength could/would overcome. The mix breed draft had her antlers, and I had my wings. A fair trade when considering Equines had neither. Avalon charges for me, an impressive sight—one that might have given a less seasoned warrior reason for worry.

Good thing I wasn’t untested.

Instead of fear or dismay, her bold attack gives me undiluted elation. I dance back a step, picking up my feet and keeping both eyes upon the charging mammoth. Dual wings thrust down hard, they successfully beat once and twice fast and accurate. I wanted to get above those horns, and above her towering self. Her first attack comes as a bluff, a volley of sand flies toward my direction—the granules strike my lower limbs. Buffing against rising feather tips, flying into rear legs, and the soft underbelly that rests below.

I countered this with another strong wing beat, hopping the shifting air would stir up any sand that she sent toward me. Maybe even send it back into that pretty masculine face. That stag like head comes up, full of points; all of which would be in my best interest to avoid. Splotched body continues to rise. Tucked limbs are drawn close to protect the fragile extensions that gave me the namesake ‘stallion.’ It would be a shame to lose that privilege. Her lunge falls short of victory—one knob grazes me on the left hindhoof, the impact forces it to dislodge a few inches from its constricted position.

Bannered tail slaps against my quarters, I swish it purposely back and forth. Tauntingly hoping that she might get a head slap from the swishing tendrils. Wings pump me up once more, before my limbs extend and I thrust hard to propel forward and down. Attempting to sail just out of reach of my partner, leaning far right I bend my left wing down and thrust it hard against where I hoped her barrel would be. A wing could be a powerful weapon, the force of a single thrust had enough muscle power to get my frame skyborn. It surely could strike and leave at the very least a bruise to remember.

Words:: 599

Setting:: Between the Oasis and Fire pit in Dragon's Throat. Clear starry night.

Attack:: (1/3)

Magic:: No magic

Buffs:: Swift & Bulk