There is hauntingly sad wildness in her eyes, a soul on the edge. It wasn’t a woman but a ghost which stared back at me -- the shadow of a warrior who longed to forget someone and for the briefest of seconds I felt that she wasn’t real after all. That this was all an illusion, some magical spirit mischief perhaps; and a breath of wind would make said stranger disappear, I’d be left standing with lips spread ajar like a fool. Staring out at the landscape and talking to a vision of my soul.

Nay, sadly, this was no illusion.

The spirit girl replied. Stating that no one should feel loss or the heartache from touching passions flame. Had my pained heart been laced so evidently in eyes that this painted women felt the need to offer condolence? Voice stuck firm in the back of my throat, lips sealed themselves tightly and drew a thin line.

She collected herself, contemplating on something. I wait, silent and motionless aside from the passing breeze that teased locks of damp mane and tail. Then my unusual company smiled, not in a cruel way, or even a teasing one. But it was enough of a smirk to draw one brow up with an expectation that words would follow. Half dreading that she would suggest something reckless.

The statement came in the form of a question. Frown deepens, but there is a visible look of relief that dashing across features. Considering this offer would be sums easier than what my mind had concocted. For one settling moment I wonder what in the world had driven this desperate heart to desire the feel of physical pain from a man she never met before -- without even giving a name. All in an effort to cover the real wound beneath; did this…ghost of a girl, this shell, realize what she was asking? What if she’d posed such a question to the wrong person, a man who was capable and hungry for more than just a good scuffle?

“Aye,” I replied with more compassion than was felt, “Though I don’t see how the gashing of teeth will ease the hurt within ye.”

Don’t tell me your name sad little woman -- it will make this easier for the both of us.

Hips stiffen, misty muscles trembled in anticipation as I leaned weight to my right. Chin tucks lower, covering my throat, a warm breath of air escapes between quivering nostrils. Last chance to walk away. Was I really going to do this? Brows furrow into hard lines and the decision is made. Beneath these sodden hooves our battleground is wet, softened by rain. Mud would make this not so playful dance an awkward and slippery one. Without another word I surged forward, charging across the meadow, feeling each blade of turf strike against wet cannons and beyond. A sloshing clump of dewy pasture flies up in the wake of my digging feet. The rush is more sluggish than normal as hooves sink into the forgiving field, sinking; threatening to stick should I mistakenly linger for too long.

At the last possible moment I draw up, digging heels into the terrain and pushing into a standing rear. Jaws open, neck stretches, snaking crown outwards and aiming to tease her face or neckline with a halfhearted nip. Forefeet jut out, flinging sludge and various debris at her muddy body, blunted tips are facing down instead of pointing up. A clear sign that I meant only to stir this female into action; not fatally wound – they seek to strike at the chest, perhaps even a nearby shoulder or arm. There is no true intent to harm this girl...

Word count: 618

Attack: (1/3)

OOC: I am so sorry this took so long to get up XD