Wet. Sloshy, slushy mess has worked its way up my legs, across much of my hide. I'm not one to care for appearances, but when that grime could threaten my life expectancy, I begin to worry. Now, more than ever, I miss your presence, your reassurance, your teeth, your howl, your ability to call hell's fire to rain down upon an opponent. Oh, how I miss you, Sitka. Blindly, I find myself holding onto the slippery, fleshy crest of Rostislav, his filthy mane tickling my tongue, my throat, so much so that I must release before I am able to even draw any blood. I hope I've managed to burst enough blood vessels that as his body tries to heal he gets a blood clot lodged somewhere vital.. As my crown pulls back I am coughing, my eyes squinting shut, my left one particularly tight as the motion pulls on the split flesh that has massacred my face.

Meanwhile, my foreleg has clashed wonderfully against his own, however I am not left many moments to revel in my success as I continually try to simply stay standing in this thickening mud and muck. Something hard has smashed itself against my cheek, and naturally my body leans away from it, my hooves sliding to my left. My sharp, cerulean eyes peek out from behind my bloodied and heavy eyelids, spying the flat, yellowed teeth of Rostislav retracting away from me after their brutal collision with my mandible. My ears pin more insistently against my poll, my own teeth baring to show my disgust, my abhorrence for his very existence at this moment.

Then something buffets my other side, and I find myself simply backing up, away from - his tail?! A hacking, rough, sick sounding cough of laughter chokes its way out of my throat, as I settle into the painful, borderline insane state of mind known as deranged. Everything aches, even as I backup my step falters as my weight shifts onto my right hind, my face stings as Rostislav's hairs from his pesky tail slash across it. I am shocked to find tears forming in my eyes, their saltiness adding to the blur that the blood did, though I know they form to help wash the blood and grime from my eyes, so that I might not be permanently damaged.

Was there any point, though? Wasn't I damaged enough?

Sitka, I pray, I moan, unknowing if my voice actually articulates the word or if it really is just a moan. My crown bows down, and for a moment, it is as if I have given in, I have admitted defeat, I have thrown in the metaphorical towel.

It is then, that I feel it. The surge of power, the lifeforce within me, dancing all around me. My ears prick, my eyes blink away my tears to view the world anew. The Sun shines down upon us, and I can feel your presence within me once more - or perhaps I have died and joined you wherever it is you have gone. My wings open, and though my left one complains about it, they fill, and cup the wind that gusts upwards, lifting my body up, away from this wretched situation. The hopelessness within me is washed away, and a renewed vigour for life returns. The weight of my body is taken away from my aching limbs, which drip dark mud and blood down their lengths. For a moment, I am free of all that moments ago had grounded me, and I was full with the decision to simply fly away, to leave this stallion and his worthless self behind.

But that would just be too easy.

My flight takes me upwards and backwards, my wings flapping gently, mostly it is the magic that thrums through my very soul keeping me aloft. I hone in onto him, and with delicate, careful strokes, I tilt myself into a dive that would have my lowest point be, with any luck, directly onto his back. My speed picks up, and though it helps the blood from my gash wash back, it stings said gash tremendously, and I know this is not my most accurate of final farewells. Reaching out with my forelegs, keeping my hinds tucked so as not to jolt my aching right hip, I aim simply to strike down sharply. With any luck, I'll have knocked him down to the ground, where he can watch me happily fly away.

You shall not contain me, you shall never take away that which I hold most dear.

For it has already been taken from me.

Stay with me, Sitka.

[ Tag: @[Rostislav]
WordCount: 776 (MS Word)
Attack: 3/3 ]