NOTE

Birdsong.
With it's spectacular arrival, the new season brought symbolism. There was chatter of blissful hope amongst both the herds and outcasts, both yearning for a new age to begin with new leaders and new horses and new adventures to be had(not to mention fewer wraiths). To Note, all these pristine beginnings meant a restart on his life as well. New horses to love. New horses to hate. New horses to deface.
Your normal day in the mind of Note. He was anxious to begin his own new life with the fresh season. Tensions were high between himself and his companion, excitement more prevalent than anything in that moment. Besides the fact that Note was protecting his herd (which was always humbling and an honorable action in his eyes); today marked the first spar Sabel would be able to fight alongside him in. She was blind, handicapped, but her eyes were Note. She needed nothing more. They had been over their strategies a million times before now, there was no room for error within them. Besides, Note didn't particularly need Sabel during a spar. He had fought a few times before, and once he had even won, all without the help of the lynx. He was sure that the slender, muscular feline would be of some use to him despite her being visually lacking. It would all be determined in due time, when Sabel would get her chance to prove herself as a formidable partner in battle.
He stood with these thoughts in mind upon the Heavenly Fields; sizing up the area in which he had selected. Sabel stood frozen with trepidation by his hocks, claws digging into the soft ground. It was midday, the air was moist, humid; weather that the stallion just happened to despise with a rather strong passion. The ground was not slick, which he was immensely grateful for. It mean that the day had not yet tasted rainfall. A wet battlefield was dangerous, far too much so that he wouldn't attempt a spar upon one. Not yet, for today was to be Sabel's taste of a real spar. Definitely not a treacherous mouthful ladened with an excess amount of bloodshed. Just a taste.
Note cast the thoughts away, tucking his head, body already locking into battle mode. "Are there any lurkers here wishing for a spar?" Note's tone was almost mocking, mischievous.
Time was so easily wasted. He was not about to spend all of it here when there were other recreations in which Note could be pursuing, rather than merely standing around waiting for a storm that would never come.


- 800 word count max
- 3 attack posts & 1 closing defense
- Magic and companions allowed
- Set at noon in the Thistle Meadow, air is thick and humid, ground soft, but not slick
- Confutatis is welcome to post first
(edited to reserve the spar for Confutatis)

ProtectoR

world's edge