He asked his own, philosophical question and Elsa just laughed, letting him think about his own question, should it really bother him. Elsa thought her response to be adequate enough, because should she ramble on more, they would soon be on the topic of oblivion. Although that was a topic that plagued her, Elsa had no intention of ruining a perfectly friendly moment with thoughts of death in destruction. The next few words out of his mouth sent her into a flurry of laughter. Obviously Elsa's head was firmly planted in the gutter, and had no intention of being removed anytime soon. Thus, even after he explained himself, Elsa could only blush at her thoughts and smile like an idiot. "Well I didn't know I made you think of such... thoughts." She smirked, watching him move away from him a little. The snow that sprinkled the ground of the grove was not deep, it was just barely above hoof height. "But...", She started in response to his advice of a spar, "If you wanna hit this, you've gotta catch me first." She winked. Sure, she was flirty, but it was for the sake of being flirty. She had an inkling of a thought that he would never think of her in such a way, and that maybe he would find her dirty humor amusing. She trotted a few feet from him, to stand beneath the tree that had just a few moments ago dropped a load of snow on her body. She turned to face him, hoping by that point that he had decided to make some sort of move. "Talking" NOTICE: This is a follow up of this thread which took place in frostfall! @[Rostislav] || He can attack first, as Elsa is kinda crazay. [0/3 attacks] Elsa

I watch her, amusement leaking through my expression, but do not say anything. Though she may intend her flirting to be innocent and playful, I can't help but stand up straighter and at attention. After all, it doesn't take much for me to be interested in a lady. Mmmm... ladies.... But that sort of interest would be better suited for another time, and it is clear if I ever pursue the notion I will have to prove myself to her. Such as right now with this spar. Her challenge is clear and I cannot wait to accept it. 'If you wanna hit this, you've gotta catch me first.' Very well. I look back at Damaris on my rump and encourage her in my mind to jump down and rest out of the way. Luckily the air is warming up with the approach of Birdsong, and I am not too worried about the young hellhound pup catching cold. She curls up by a tree and I press my muzzle to her forehead tenderly. She licks my snout for encouragement. I take a moment to lower my pouch from my neck. Though the alcohol may bolster my courage, it could distract me and make me unsteady, so I will abstain for now. Perhaps afterward I will enjoy a nice gulp -- drowning myself in vodka. I turn back toward the snowy white mare, her blue-tinged wings, mane, and tail a perfect complement to the snow. Were this another, more peaceful moment to savor, I might have stopped to admire and compliment her beauty. But it's not a peaceful moment, it's time to play rough and tumble. My white eyes betray nothing - how can they, without pupils? I take a step toward her - one hoof, then another. My tail, long and feline, swishes back and forth, like a panther waiting to pounce on its prey. She's not too far away, and has turned to face me. I realize just before I move that this fight isn't just for fun. It's also to impress Damaris, and work on my new position as 'Tiro' within my herd. I need to practice this new art-form, and I want to know that if any harm were ever to present itself to my bonded, I would be able to defend her. My heart hardens and my muscles tense; though I mean Elsa no true harm, I must take myself and this spar seriously. I stamp the ground with one striped hoof, sending snow flurrying around it in a small radius. Concentrating only on the task before me, I launch forward, covering the small distance between us. I move like I am about to attack her right side, but I feint to the left, attacking her other side instead. My head lowered, my horns are pointed toward where I anticipate her side to be. At the risk of being impaled, it would be an excellent idea for her to move out of the way. The black, bony dragon spikes on my faces are shorter but sharp, the one at the top of my forehead at least eight inches long and poised to pierce any flesh. The eland horns on the top of my head are longer still but a little duller - an excellent weapon nonetheless. My body lunges toward her slim porcelain side, horns pointed at her rib cage, hoping to drive beneath her tender hide, or at least bruise her ribs. I may not be super fast, but I am strong and well-built. In this moment, I am not the weak victim of my parents' abuse. I'm not the infamous drunken fool hiding behind his mask of alcoholism. For once, I feel that I have agency. I can attack and defend, and surely deal damage. I'm not powerless. In my mind I feel Damaris's encouragement. The language of our minds is still primitive, incomprehensible, but I can sense what she feels, and she can sense what I feel- emotion flashes vividly without the need for words. I take heart in her support and feel energy surge through my body. I didn't expect to feel this alive, especially without my alcohol. I try to prepare for her counterattack by keeping my head lowered, horns toward her, backing up a few steps all the while. No matter what my attack might have done, I call out in triumph, feeling beautifully elated as blood pumps hard through my veins. This... This is something I could get used to. Text text text. "Words words words." OOC: No use of magic or companions. (For one, Damaris is not old enough, but she may be watching from a distance.) Birdsong is approaching in this thread, continued from the last, so they're still acting like it is Frostfall. Agency = a person or thing through which power is exerted or an end is achieved. WC: 740 Tag: @[Elsa] Attack: [1/3] Dice roll

She spoke but no words followed from the rough, low speaking man. He simply allowed his child to find shelter beneath a nearby tree. The moment was touching, and Elsa simply watched with a small smile. She watched as he then slipped the small pouch, which was around his neck, also to the ground next to the pup. Elsa’s mind began to wander about what it was, did it hold a type of liquid, or was it some sort of plant (like Oxy’s locoweed!). The thought made her giggle aloud, and she thought about how stupid she must look. Elsa was too excited to care though; maybe she had just discovered another dealer within the herd! Such news would be gossip ripe for the spreading should she find her assumption to be true. Finally, mystery man in the trench coat decides to turn around. His milky, white eyes seem to be looking at Elsa, but she honestly has no idea. He could be looking next to her, or maybe not even near her, she could never tell from this distance. His tail lashes back and forth, and he seems to transform. The atmosphere begins to feel much like it does during a spar: rough, and to the point. There was never any time for flirting or giggling. Elsa frowned a little, but tensed, as she awaited for his no doubt quick, and painful move. It wasn’t long before he decided to make his move, and she waited with a new, voracious hunger for proving she was stronger than the man in front of her. A stamp against the ground centered her attention once again, as he crushed the snow beneath his hoof. Maybe it was a metaphor, she was the snow queen, and maybe he was showing her that he can indeed, crush the snow. He suddenly burst forward, and Elsa braced herself, standing her ground. Rosti (she thought that was a clever name she just invented) seemed to being going to her right side, so Elsa turned, and moved to her left. In her attempt to feint, she now provided an open, and exposed right side. He suddenly then veered to the left, catching her slightly off guard. Elsa tried to lunge forward, her muscles bunching in her hindquarters, desperately trying to move from the stallion. She didn’t want to look like she was fleeing, but she without a doubt did not want to take the brunt of the attack. Thankfully she had been a bit better at moving than she had hoped for, even if Rosti did hit. She felt his horns dully smash into the right side of her hindquarters, pushing painfully against the skin but never breaking it. No doubt, there would be a large, blue bruise that would cover her body; at least it would match her body! She could already feel the blood rushing to the attack point. Adrenaline began to overpower her body, and she thanked the lords that he had not hit her precious ribcage, but rather her muscled, easily healed hindquarters. As she continued moving away, the constant movement brought a sore feeling to her rear, and she groaned. This was already going to be a long, hard fight. Her lineage, thank the gods, gave her better footing in the cool snow as she turned in a tight circle, moving back towards Rosti. Assuming he had continued in the direction of his attack, Elsa calculated that he should be flashing his right side to her. Elsa’s legs pounded, attempting to pick up speed. She ran straight for Rosti, hoping to push her larger body into his shoulder, to make him trip and injure himself, or- this was a surprise. As she hoped her body rammed into his right shoulder, she desperately began to snap her teeth over his bare, brown back. She wanted to teach him just how feisty women could be, especially when you bruise their merchandise. I mean seriously; you touch it, you buy it right? As she snapped about, she seriously hoped she had hit him; otherwise she’d look like a crazy snapping bird. Not that the look would be a terrible thing, maybe he liked them crazy. "Talking" @[Rostislav] || 700 Words || [1/3 attacks] Elsa

Her porcelain figure is not immune to my attack, but she's not as fragile as she might appear. Pretty Miss Elsa. She is faster than I am, but my strength should not be underestimated. My head connects with her hindquarters, sure to leave a bruise. I wonder if it will be an insta-bruise, or if it will develop over time. Either way, she will likely be sore there for awhile. The pretty one groans as she moves away from me, and I smile grimly. Score one for Rostislav! But I would be foolish to think that the fight ends after one hit. It's a back and forth between us. A strategy game that, if we had a choice, we would play step by step, in slow motion. Instead, the moments fly by faster than we realize. Isn't that how it always goes, time flying? I skid to a halt as she moves away from me, and despite her fresh bruise she turns tightly and approaches me. My right side is open to her - without a doubt, I feel my vulnerability. She gains speed quickly on the frozen ground, faster than I was able. She slams into my shoulder and knocks me sideways away from her. Her ivory teeth - almost as bright white as her hide - snap wildly at my withers. Wild or not, she makes contact. The bones that are made for grass grab my skin, not caring that I am flesh, not herb. I squeal and hop in the air, wincing as she tears at the me, tearing my skin from my muscle and letting blood flow down my hide, darkening the chestnut and brown hairs there. It will be raw and aching for who knows how long. It burns as only a raw wound can burn. I wiggle my shoulders in an attempt to shake her loose, my leonine tail swinging around, flailing in her direction. My ears are pinned tightly against my skull. Ouch, ouch, get the fuck off you witch! Shoulders back and forth as I struggle to shake her grip. I turn my head to grab at her neck, my own stained teeth - not nearly as pretty as hers - snapping at her neck. They seek the side of it, the top of it, to tear skin and spill blood, or to rip out some of the pretty white and blue hairs that decorate it. We can't all be perfect all the time, Miss Elsa, and I'm here to make sure of that. Snowflakes begin to fall around us. Really? More snow? I hope that the visibility stays decent, or this could get ugly - or uglier - pretty damn fast. Snow is not my element, and it is clearly hers. But that doesn't mean I have to lose. If I can successfully shake her off, I'll move my hindquarters away, and let go of her neck (provided that I've grabbed it) after a few good shakes. I admit that I admire the girl's spirit and fight, and I know that my body will heal. Sure, I'll have another scar over my withers - but I have so many now, it will just blend in with the rest, won't it? Another tale to tell - if I can remember which one it is. Damaris yips at me from where I've left her by the tree. I feel her worry fill me, and it starts to distract me from my goal. I try to send waves of reassurance back at her. I cannot let her worry get in the way of this spar. Though, it does remind me that I need to not get hurt too badly - I need to be able to take care of her, don't I? Text text text. "Words words words." OOC: Leaving a bruise on Elsa, as based on her response. I provided a hypothetical response if he is able to shake Elsa loose and grab her neck. Disregard if it is a miss. Also, I know insta-bruise isn't a word, but it is in-character for Rostislav. WC: 618 Tag: @[Elsa] Attack: [2/3]

Running at a man is a good idea. It’s surprising, and usually, they think you will just jump into their arms. However, in Elsa’s case, she is just here to bite you like a crazy rabid birdie. Her white chest collides with his dark, right shoulder. He stumbles sideways, but Elsa is reaching nonetheless. Her teeth clack down, the rough, meaty part of his skin breaking at her loving kiss. A tinge of metallic taints the taste of manly hair, and she just smiles, teeth, flesh and all. He begins to shake, and quake. The skin begins to slide away from the vices of her ivories before finally falling free. A quick assessment of her work reminds Elsa that she is indeed, showing him just how strong women are. Her senses were only heightened at the sound of his squealing pain. He would learn to love her touches. Or not, depends on what type he is. However, poor Elsa is not quick enough to pull away! The darling dove can only look from the corner of her eye before she notices dark, dingy teeth heading her way. The only thought that crossed her mind was that of horror; how could he kiss his mother with those teeth?! Elsa frantically tosses her head into the air, trying to use her height to stand above his stubby shortness. However, her mane, for once in her life, is more of a hindrance than help. Rosti’s teeth manage to pull a few hairs. The only problem is, the damn healthy locks won’t let go. His strength manages to pull her neck to the left with it, awkwardly tweaking and causing a brief, stinging pain down her neck, before the hairs finally pull free. The pain was dull, and lasted at the base of her neck. No doubt, an uncomfortable feeling would fill her with each little twitch of her head. He managed to get a good chunk of hair. The multi-colored snow strands, pulling a small, identifiable chunk away from her body. Thank the gods that the place where her mane is located feels nearly no pain. Damn, I mean, she seriously was looking a little “ratchet” now. The missing space in her mane provided an awkward draft under her neck. The place there was usually warm, insulated by a thick, silky, warm mane. The cool wind biting at her neck was a terrifying parallel to the drastic spiral her life was headed down, and she was too pig-headed to realize. So thus, Elsa continues her little charade, parading about for men, so desperate for love. Is this really the path of a queen? Is a queen only as good as the size of her kingdom? The snow begins to fall, dancing around her porcelain body like she was meant for a snow globe. In this moment, she was perfection, her globe would not shatter, and her world would not be broken. Trench coat-man begins to move but she didn’t want him to leave quite yet. If there was one thing Elsa learned from her spar with Gingersnap, was that a bite on the ear hurt like the dickens. But… it could also be quite enticing, right? Didn’t men love that sort of thing? Elsa tried to follow him with her body, trying to keep near to his right side. Then, when she thought the timing was right, she reached out her maw. Her teeth clacked down, and the girl hoped to bite down on his right ear. She wanted him to feel the “little” love bite, and if she drew blood, that was just a bonus. Did he really think he could avoid her easily? Elsa was a tracker, a professional stalker in some cases. Whenever she reverted to this, silly, overly hormonal woman, she was an unstoppable force. Never mess with a woman who wants some. "Talking" @[Rostislav] || 644 Words || [2/3 attacks] Elsa

Rostislav That bitch cray. Well, not as crazy as Aurelia, that is for sure. Aurelia is a very special brand of crazy that I was a fool to touch. Clearly, once she has her way with you, things get a little weird. She is frightfully unbalanced in an obnoxious, overdramatic kind of way. Exhausting. Elsa, however, seems to be a different kind of crazy. More like the hormonal pre-coitus crazy. But that's the crazy-in-bed type and I'm into that. Sure, she's making me bleed, but who doesn't like a little S&M? Her teeth stained with my blood, her flank beaten with my skull - blood and impact play floats my boat just fine. The snow flutters down, and while it may compliment Elsa, it makes me just look raggedy and - snowed upon. The snowflakes land gently upon my bleeding parts, caressing the open skin on my withers. I imagine it will sting, but it's just frozen water, and instead it feels blessedly cool on the hot and tender injuries. It occurs to me that maybe after the spar I'll have a nice lie down in the snow and ice my sore spots. Damaris will keep me company for moral support, and pity (and scold) me for my injuries and foolishness. Why? Because in her eyes I am always foolish, and maybe she has a point. If I'm getting beat up, then I'm probably doing something foolish - survival of the fittest and all. Maybe I just don't want to lie around doing nothing all day! As pleased as Elsa may be with the destruction on my withers, I am just as pleased with the forced shedding I've started. Of course, I'd like a little more blood to spill down that pretty white coat, but a poor boy doesn't always get what he wants. Perhaps instead I've given her a little whiplash that she'll enjoy for the next week or so to come. Whiplash - the thing that seems so minor but really gets under your skin. Though I move away from her, she's quicker than I am. My hindquarters move back, then shoulders. She's tossed her head high to avoid my attack, but to no avail. As I step back, however, my head is lowered by momentum. It's the perfect time for Elsa to strike, and strike she does. Her teeth parted again, freshly stained with my blood and sweat, she lunged for the top of my skull. The beautiful - slightly less beautiful - wintery mare is ready to give me a scolding for trying to leave her so soon. Again, the pain she brings me is more than I bargained for. Whoever said I wanted to be the submissive in this power dynamic? I gasp in pain, my silvery eyes widening and watering. Blood drips down my wintery hairs as her teeth dig into the cartilage of my right ear. I can't hear it, and I can't see it, but I can feel it tear. A gash, fresh from our friskiness, splits my tender lobe, and I scream in pain - and growing rage. That's it bitch I'm done with this shit. With a stallion's fury and strength I press forward toward her, angling only slightly to my right so that my horns again are pointed toward her chest. No one would ever want to be stabbed with these horns. If I succeed in piercing her flesh - with eland horns or dragon-like face spikes - I wouldn't be surprised if she gains an ugly scar to remind her of our playtime together. I'd like her to remember me after all - just consider it a permanent beauty mark! My teeth gnash together, grabbing at anything I can reach. It's a full frontal, all weapons forward attack. I yank forcefully after my attack, attempting to tug myself free from her. Of course my ear will likely tear even more with the forceful reverse motion, but that's something I'm willing to sacrifice. After all - I can still use the other one to hear, right? It'll just give me more character, a war story to draw in those smexy ladies. Provided she lets go of my ear, I'll move back and away, and raise up on my hind legs with flailing front legs in an attempt to defend myself. If not, I'll struggle harder against this forced contact, and find new ways to bring her pain. Walk. Talk. OOC: Elsa describes her attack as a twinge of the neck, Rosti refers to it as whiplash. "Cray" and "smexy" are misspelled purposefully. She makes a decent-sized tear in his ear with her teeth, one that leaves the ear mostly functional, but deformed. Since his head is lowered and her chest exposed to him, he tries to tear into her with his horns and his teeth - whatever will reach. Once/if she lets go, he will back away and rear, using his front hooves as a defense. Tag: @[Elsa] WC: 726 Attack: [3,3] Top Shelf Sexy Badass

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Poor little Elsa was still so desperate for love. Maybe it was because of her sob-story beginnings that enticed these desperate feelings, but it was more probable that it was because she was a three-year-old in her prime and was still cleaner than Mr. Clean himself. However, even though she knew she was desperate, it wouldn’t stop her from trying to make any man fall in love with her. This though, was probably one of the more of the…. taboo routes. Her neck tweak was one of the downfalls of this “taboo play”. Her neck was inn pain, and it was more than annoying than anything she had ever felt. It was downright infuriating. The pain wasn’t life threatening, but the soreness was felt so deep in her neck that it felt like something was pulsing painfully beneath her muscles. That injury, though painful, would not stop her from getting a little more intimate. Her teeth shined pearly white against the wintry landscape. Small flakes embedded themselves in her new haircut (which she would need to fix later… somehow), and all in all, Elsa looked beautiful. Snow complimented her well; the white framed her curves like no other thing could. Only one thing could make it better, and that would be the vibrant color of red blood. And how the blood did pour. Elsa’s marvelous teeth impaled the flesh of his right ear, and almost instantaneously she could feel the ivory food-mincers (a most eloquent name for her teeth) cut into his ear. The cartilage doesn’t contain as much blood as pure flesh, but she is satisfied with the decent amount that was racing from his ear. Thinking that there is no end to this, she quickly backpedals. Her teeth released from his ear, not without a little tugging due to his movements of course, and she hopes that she had pulled that small area of flesh completely from his ear. It would be an honor to know she left a little present for him. Elsa is to intent on battle to actually look though, and she could only wonder if that part of his ear was now on the ground, or still grotesquely attached. She didn’t even notice his attempt to reach his face out and strike her, silly Elsa, so oblivious sometimes. As her feet stamp backwards, in a desperate attempt to avoid his attack, she sees hooves whoosh past her face. One nearly clipped her muzzle, and she squeaks at the nearness of his body. Sure, she liked contact, but she liked being the one in control! Afraid of the hooves crashing down on her she quickly stamps back about two more steps. Then, she decides this is her chance. This is her chance to knock him to the ground and pin him, or at least attempt too. She rears against him, too. She hopes he is still in the air, and lunges forward. She presses her weight into her front hooves in attempt to slam his shorter head down towards the ground. It was an attempt to not only cause a heck of a headache, but hopefully to make him loose his balance, and fall. The only discomforts she had now, were the bruise that was pulsing in her hindquarters, and that goddamn annoying twinge in her neck. She wouldn’t succumb to petty pains, she was the dominatrix, and she would dominate. "Talking" @[Rostislav] || 566 Words || [3/3 attacks] Elsa

Rostislav Don't tread on me. Isn't that how the saying goes? Well I'm applying it to the short of stature equine sort. Don't tread on me, my body. But don't you think that you can walk all over me and tell me what to do. There are a limited number of souls out there that I will listen to. But not one of them can truly boss me around. That includes you pretty lady. I do not care what you think of yourself; I do not care what games you want to play. Just because you are the pretty one in the winter sun does not mean you get to call the shots. If that is what you thought, you were sorely mistaken. But clearly I was mistaken, too. I miscalculated in my attack, and missed Elsa's delicate head by a few inches. Well that's disappointing. It would have been nice to have given her a good bitchslap. But no, it doesn't seem I'm destined to make Elsa my bitch. I grunt, and take a step back to steady my body, tossing my head up into the air. But as I step back and my front hooves tuck toward my body, I feel them scrape under my girth area in some freak movement. 'Ah fuck!' Not only have I missed her but I've hurt myself, too? That's just fucked up. Blood drips slowly from the scratch that I've left there. It's not too deep, but it sure burns. Her attack mirrors mine: her sparkled hooves come straight for me. Don't tread on me. Just because you think I am short and fat - and I sort of am - does not mean that you can tower over me and dominate me. I am not so short that her hooves hit my head, and lifting my crown has helped that, but instead her hooves hit against my chest. I grunt as the oxygen forcefully leaves my lungs. Oh fuck that hurts. I blink in pain as my breast bone bruises, and I teeter backward, legs flailing as I try to balance myself. It doesn't work, and I fall backward and to the side, landing on my left flank and side. I clamber to my feet, heaving for the air that she has denied me. I take a few steps back then. My eyes are wild, but you can't tell. The pain in my chest, my withers, my ear! I hope that everything is still attached to my body and that there aren't too many chunks missing. Damaris whines for me, then growls at Elsa for causing me pain. I can't steady her - my mind is not steady enough to even attempt communication, and it is full of pain and extreme annoyance. I let out an angered cry at the mare that has proven herself a worthier opponent than I anticipated. But it is over now, and we may both part ways to heal and recuperate. Groaning through my teeth, I speak to my herdmate. "Well fought, Winter Princess." Walk. Talk. OOC: Rosti has a critical miss, so he scraped himself with his own hooves. Elsa missed his head - Rosti is not /that/ much shorter than her - but hit his chest instead and knocked him off balance. His chest is bruised and he's in pain. WC: 504 Defense Post. Ready for judging. Top Shelf Sexy Badass

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Elsa
Realism [-1]
In your first post you say that Elsa turned to her left, exposing her right side to attack. It should be her left side that she exposed further to Rostislav's attack. With this being said I am unsure how she took a hit to her right instead of her left. However, you did a good job describing the pain that she felt from the attack. You go on, later, to say Elsa is larger than Rostislav. Elsa is a Quarter Horse and Rostislav is a Soviet Heavy Draft. Build wise Rosti is the larger of the pair, Elsa is the taller one. You have Elsa ram her chest into Rostislav but there is no mention of how the hit affects her. I believe she should have felt some pain from it. Think about when you ram something with your shoulder. Don't you feel something? The same goes for the chunk of hair that Rosti pulled out. You say Elsa felt nothing where the hair was pulled out. She should have at least felt some mild discomfort. You did, however, say that she felt pain in her neck from her head being yanked to the side. You also have an instance of powerplay. "As she hoped her body rammed into his right shoulder, she desperately began to snap her teeth over his bare, brown back." You do say that she hoped to ram her body into his shoulder, but you also say that she snapped her teeth over his back like she had already hit him. You could have said "She hoped her body rammed into his right shoulder so she could aim desperate bites at his bare back." I liked your choice of a hoof attack at Rosti's head when it was lowered.

Emotion [+1]
In your first post I can see Elsa beginning to realize what she's gotten herself into with a fight with Rosti. As the spar goes on I can feel how desperate she is for acknowledgement and love. She also thinks very highly of herself and her beauty. With this said, I think that you could have developed more emotion when Rostislav ripped out a chunk of her mane.

Prose [+3]
You only had a few small mistakes, but nothing really noteworthy. Try to proof read your posts to avoid mistakes like using 'inn' instead of 'in' and extra 'than's that didn't need to be used.
"Her neck was inn pain, and it was more than annoying than anything she had ever felt."

Readability [+3]
Your posts were easy to read and flowed nicely.
"She wouldn’t succumb to petty pains, she was the dominatrix, and she would dominate." - I loved this

Finally tally: ----- 59.5 HP


Rostislav
Realism [+1]
Rostislav realizes that his vodka is a hinderance and doesn't aid in his ability to fight so he leaves it behind with Damaris. I liked that he took into consideration how young she is and was concerned for her wellbeing. I liked his first choice of using his horns to attack, but the way it was worded was slightly confusing. You say Rosti launched himself at Elsa. Was he running at her? If you're running at her wouldn't you pass by her because Rosti's size would prevent him from stopping very quickly, I believe. There is also no mention of Rosti stopping until you say that he is backing away with his head down, so this lead me to believe that he attacked her side and continued past her. If I were you I would have followed through with a cowkick at Elsa as I passed by. Later in the fight you say that Rostislav can feel his companion's concern and I did find it realistic that he would be distracted by it. I do not believe that a horse's teeth are sharp enough to rip a chunk of flesh, but you do a good job of describing the pain. The pain from the bite on his ear. Ouch, it made me hurt. I probably would have tried to stab her, too, to get free. Even though I am not a fan of falling over (at all, and I never recommend it) I can see how Elsa hitting Rosti in the chest would knock him off balance and make him fall.

Emotion [+2]
I loved that Rostislav started out the fight wanting to prove himself to his bonded and himself. There was a constant undercurrent of emotion throughout your posts, but there were moments stood out more than others. His desperation to get Elsa off of him when she bit his withers made me actually want to jump in and help him. The rage he felt when she bit his ear and the way he used his horns to desperately stab at her made me feel bed for him. I also loved his confusion about how he managed to hit himself in his last post. Good job!

Prose [+3]
I didn't catch much in the way of grammar or spelling issues. Some of your sentences, though, did feel a bit choppy and rushed.

Readability [+2]
I enjoy reading Rostislav a lot because of the comments he makes about things in his posts. I really enjoyed his comparison of Aurelia and Elsa and their two different types of crazy. Overall your posts were easy to read, but the choppy sentences affected the flow for me.

Finally tally: ----- 37 HP