The feeling of his hooves plowing right into their intended target brought a wicked grin to stretch across the Weaver's face. His first few attacks had been meek at best, and to have finally landed a solid blow upon his Lady caused a sensation of pride to swell within his chest. Maybe he was childish to be so proud of himself at that moment, but Crowley had never been a fighter, or at least a very good one in his own opinion. This was not his calling and it never would be - and that was only proved in the few seconds following his brief moment of glory.

In the moment that his cleft hooves had met the ground beneath him, Crowley had charged forward to put distance between himself and the ring-dinging mare, but her lithe form was more than capable of putting her right up next to him in what seemed to be an almost too fast action. His eyes widened slightly when he spotted her gilded titlesake swing away and then right at him, surely aiming for the already broken, exposed skin of his left shoulder, or wherever else it could possibly cut in to. Illynx's aim proved true, for her horn smacked with impressive force against his shoulder. Pitted against his own momentum of rushing forward, the spiraled grooves of her horn made for an unpleasant experience as it rubbed and pressed into the still fresh wound from her earlier bite. Aside from the immediate, sharp and lasting sting of the horn's strike, it did little more irritate the still bleeding wound.

When he felt the weight of the horn lift milliseconds later, Crowley wasted no time in trying to decode what her next attack might be. As he lost himself to concentration, her taunting words for once fell on deaf ears. Throwing his weight into his left shoulder, the brindle aimed to slam his taller, bulkier body into the smaller frame of the Basin gypsy, whether to knock her clean off her feet or simply cause her to lose balance for a moment. With his neck arched and chin pulled close to his chest, his horns were kept nearly vertical in his delivery and were hopefully no threat to the mare.

Crowley was not alone in his final stand, however; coming up from behind was not only Talbot, but the tiny man who still clung to his flimsy saddle and reins, who looked more determined than ever as he rocked back and forth furiously with every stride that his canine steed took. Together the pair brought up the rear, Talbot's golden eyes ever watchful for flying hooves as he attempted to close in on their skirted foe. Instead of launching an attack of his own, though, the hound set to letting loose a vicious growl and a boisterous melody of barks. It was to be a defensive approach, meant to distract the gilded Lady and, hopefully, lend his master a greater success rate as he executed his final tactic.

[ 3/3 ;; 504 words. Throws his weight into his left shoulder and aims to slam his body into Illynx's right side. Talbot and Tiny Man come up from behind and try to distract Illynx during this attack by barking. ;D]