There was thunder roaring in his ears- or maybe it was the rush of his hot blood- and the taste of salt in his mouth. Acid kept sizzling down from the skies torrentially, never-ending, unforgiving. His skin felt as if it were bubbling, as if it were melting, and maybe it was, maybe even at this very moment it began to peel away from muscle, and the muscle would strip away from bone. It was a pain that he had felt only a few times before, a blistering, burning sensation that scalded the entirety of his upper body, and it felt everlasting. Thoughts of his ambitions, his arrogant dedication to victory, were washed away by the fire engulfing him, until he focused on one thought, one hope, one prayer: kill Histe, and rid himself of the she-lion bitch.

And then he could fall into his stupor, and sleep away time until the burns on his back scabbed over.

His hooves caught her in the shoulder, and despite his rapidly deteriorating state he gave a grunt of satisfaction, dropping back to all fours. Having caught her shoulder on the right, he guess she would adjust her course to the left, thus avoiding his brawny quarters further. As he thought, there is a streak of rust and black and brown as she moves by him, slowed by the blow he dealt her, hooves splashing in the mud, globs of shit-brown kicked up from her hooves sizzling on his buttermilk skin, made noticeable as the rain lightens above, offering him brief respite.

Yet despite the thunderclouds rolling away, he feels little relief, only a rapidly growing frustration which makes his teeth grit together and jaw clench so tightly it aches. Ricochet had not been defeated, not yet, but he had been humiliated, by the fear in his eyes and the paralyzing affect the forewarning growl of thunder had on him. Humiliated by Histe, once again, the fucking bitch who was the cause of his continuous pain and embarrassment. Who did she think she was, with her snickers and svelte words, her condescending attitude and damnably short-sighted demeanor? She was NOT going to get away with it, not this time.

Ricochet would teach her better than that.
There is a twist along his body as he shifts, coming up and towards her, forelegs bent and teal eyes electric, the muscles in his hindquarters flexing as he forces the power out of them, coming towards the slippery devil, teeth bared. The Incendiary lifts up as Histe moves by him, the mare’s hindlegs launching up to assail him with mud. Clots of it splatter along his lower chest and forelegs, sizzling specks of acid that pale in comparison to the rainstorm she had summoned just moments before. Still, it stings like biting horseflies.

He reaches out, tipping his weight forward, snapping at her hindquarters with his flat yellowed teeth, aiming to take a solid chunk out of her fat ass.

Unknown to Ricochet, just a few steps behind him is Guns, loping towards Histe confidently with his plume of a tail wagging, thick coat having shed most of the rain, leaving only his paws damaged. Unheard by either of them is the mare’s silent command to her companion.

And Guns yelps in surprise as the cougar comes racing out of the shadows, flinching away.

Like the day so many months ago in the Threshold, Ricochet’s attention is drawn immediately to his dog. He might swear daily at the collie, bark orders and snap commands, act like he don’t give a single flipping fuck- but that dog is his, and nobody touches his Guns.

The Incendiary stops short on his attack, pivoting on his hindquarters and lunging forward, tripping over himself in his haste, knees coming down momentarily into the sucking red-black mud, before he surges up. There is more burning around his joints, but he doesn't care. He doesn't care about Histe. He doesn't care about the protests from every nerve in his body as he flies over the treacherous footing. All he cares about his stupid, stupid dog.

Ears locked to skull, eyes savage, Ricochet bellows his rage outloud, flying forward at the cougar as Guns scrambles to the safety at the Incendiary’s side. The mud slips and skids beneath his hooves as he charges.
And keeps charging. For Ricochet has no intention of stopping- he intends to run that stupid fucking cougar right over.