The ground shook underneath the males and Archibald thanked the Gods with a silent prayer. His magic was a great gift. Not only was it a great gift, but it worked for what he had imagined. Archibald noted Birch’s loose footing and his golden eyes glinted with a sense of accomplishment—it was a small accomplishment but one nonetheless. His glint of achievement was short lived, however, as his first strike rolled under Birch. The warrior grunted as his hooves met air beneath the white stallion. With a mouthful of annoyance Archibald tightened his jaw and let his hooves fall to the shaky earth. The black was undoubtedly skilled in moving across the small quake because of the practice he put in to be able to use the skill successfully in battle.

Turning on his heels quickly Archibald moved to his right and forward to get away from the tree trunk that narrowed in for a damaging blow. Archibald lowered his center of gravity, knees and hocks bending to help his balance. The earth stilled beneath the massive creatures as Archibald moved away from Birch, keeping his flank unscathed. With all of his focus on the tree Archibald missed the alien’s teeth aiming down. Archibald felt hair and skin peel off of his left leg’s gaskin area, leaving a small, stinging bite. The flesh, now raw, spotted with pin-sized droplets of blood as they pushed through the broken skin and into the air. The red liquid was not major and did not poor down his leg. The blood simply painted itself over the wound and within hours the bite would be hard and it would start to stab over. Had it been Tallsun Archibald knew the bite would have probably been deeper, but Orangemoon thickened his coat in preparation for Frostfall. He was thankful for the Orangemoon now—not only for his long coat but also because the flies hid in fright of the coming colder days. This wound and any others he may endure would be free of the pesky creatures that bothered him so highly during Birdsong and Tallsun.

With his hind end now facing Birch’s face Archibald threw his weight forward, strong shoulders and forelegs supporting the massive beast. Quickly and precisely Archibald thrust his back legs out, two hooves aimed for Birch’s face. His attack was instantaneous to the pain of the bite and Archibald only rationalized that Birch’s face would still be in close proximity. Archibald’s power was held mostly in his legs, as any horse’s was, and his kicks were powerful. The warrior used his legs skillfully in killing the fathers of his two younger brothers, Casimir and Knox. His legs had hammered down on Roanne the Sentinel. He remembered the sensation of his hooves cracking over his former leader’s body, breaking skin and bone and exposing weakness. The Sentinel had been a group effort, that was true, but Archibald had been the general above his brothers—as he usually was. It had been he alone, though, that killed Casimir’s father. He did not even know that stallion’s name; he could only remember the face of the poor brute as Archibald took his life. Something about fighting and killing gave Archibald a sense of pride, whether it be for his mother—as in the case of the Sentinel and the forgotten one—or for practice—much like his spars with Smoke or the unnamed unicorn(Leyra)—or whether it be for a sake of pride—in this case, his fight against Birch.

Archibald let his hind legs fall to the earth again, and back up quickly. Archibald tried to push as closely into the male as he could and sent out another driving kid, this time willing it to land on the tree-creature’s brachial tricep or brachial bicep muscles. Archibald hoped the male had not turned, as he was unsure of how his hooves would feel crashing into the tree that sprouted from Birch’s shoulders. It appeared to have bark, and he knew that kicking real trees was just unintelligent.


[WC: 675 | Archibald turned and moved away from Birch, causing the tree to hit nothing but for Birch's teeth to get a grip on his leg. In a quick defensive attack Archibald kicked out with both back legs, hoping to strike Birch's face. After those kicks he back up quickly to get as close to Birch as possible and kicked again, hoping to hit the area where his shoulder and chest meet or on his shoulder. (I didn't say anything about hitting Birch's roots if he did hit his leg because I don't really know where Birch's roots under his skin are.) 2/3 | Edited to add table.]

Aside from training spars with Vincent, Archibald had never fought with another draft before so close to his size. Most of his brothers had some type of draft blood in them, save for Evers, Wilder and Emerson, but not full like Archibald and Vincent. Vincent outgrew Archibald by a couple of inches, but even so Archibald had always been the most skilled fighter and most intimidating powerhouse in his family. Now, though, Archibald had truly met a match. Birch was a ferocious fighter, passion driving his muscles. Underneath the dominating part that fueled Archibald’s dislike for this new stallion there was a neutral admiration for the way Birch fought. The stallion truly knew his body and how to handle it.

Archibald feels contact on his first attack, but his happiness in the attack hitting was not lived to its full life. Archibald’s second attack also slammed on the white draft, a surge of power running through Archibald’s veins. Blood pumped in the warrior’s ears, deafening him to the barks and whines of his companion. Loretta stayed off to the side, her body moving furiously as she paced. Archibald pushed her away mentally, honing in on the fact that she was not ready for battle. Loretta whined still, pleading to have permission to protect her bonded.

Archibald moved forward once all four of his hooves touched the ground of the Threshold. In the dimming light the earth grew colder and Archibald’s muscles were growing tight with a full day of use. If he had not already preformed an entire patrol routine Archibald would have more stamina to force into this battle. Archibald cursed his dedication and pride, the two mixing in his battle so fervently. This encounter would leave the massive guardian tired. Archibald would accept refuge of the Foothills tonight with an open heart. He would have to find his mother and brothers, to assure their safety before he could rest, however.

Archibald clenched his jaw as pain rippled down his hind end. Birch had successfully landed his kick on Archibald’s leg. A bruise would form and Archibald would be sore and stiff from the impact of the large, powerful hooves. The pain radiated around his fibula, his body sending heat to the area attacked. With a head full of frustration and a heart full of pride Archibald turned his body just in time. The black stallion lowered his center of gravity, back legs bending. Pain surged through him and he knew he needed to finish this fight quickly. Feeling his chest swell with a giant breath Archibald opened his mouth and released a long, high pitched, screaming neigh.

Simultaneous to his advantage as a ranked warrior Archibald reared to match Birch. Archibald’s feathered hooves swung out to strike at the legs and knees of the white before him. With hard eyes Archibald prepared his body for the tangle of the two drafts, pit strength and tactic against strength and tactic. These two hurricanes were running full force, and they were colliding to become one megastorm.

[WC: 506 | Birch’s kick landed on Archibald’s gaskin area, affecting his fibula. Pain fuels his anger and Archibald turns as Birch does, using his battle cry and rearing to kick out at Birch’s legs.]

It all seemed to end so quickly. Archibald's massive fore hooves drove into the side of the stallion before him, their accuracy driven ferociously by the battle ability he held because of the Foothills ranking him so respectively. This battle had taken its toll and Archibald was glad as he felt his pride’s endeavor coming to a close. After his attacks landed Archibald let his weight sink back, his body prepared to land back on the ground and his teeth ready to snap at Birch's heels as he drove him off angrily. With his muscles tight and mind focused on driving Birch away Archibald was not prepared for the white draft's tree to come slamming in his direction. As the branches collided with Archibald's body he stumbled backwards, legs flailing to find proper footing. With this quick backwards movement Birch’s hooves struck only air. Dust piled up around the drafts as the black shuffled his hooves and spread his legs to finally stabilize himself. Snorting, Archibald backed up, his breaths coming in hard puffs that racked his chest.

In this moment Archibald was not representing his herd well, but he always had a duty to himself and there was no way imaginable that the warrior would stand to take such disrespect. Archibald had offered refuge only to have it thrown in his face. "The Foothills could have used your skills in battle effectively, now, as far as I am concerned you are not welcome." Archibald snorted, eyes hard as he stood as strong as he could. Archibald was sure that if Paladin had been watching this ordeal the unicorn would not be pleased but the idea of pleasing anyone, at this point, was beyond his level of tolerance.

With that Archibald looked down at Loretta, the red malamute already at his side poking her nose on his legs and whining with worry. He could feel her emotions were mixed between worry for his wellbeing and anger for him not letting her fight. Reaching down Archibald touched his nose to the red dog’s back and lifted his head once more to look at Birch. ” If I see you again, especially near my home, mark the promise that I will end you.” Swishing his tail in annoyance Archibald turned and headed towards his home.




[ WC: 386 | Closing. Birch's branches knocked him off balance and made him stagger back. However, Birch's final frontal hoof strikes missed. Archibald is going to be sore in the morning :| || Edited to add table ]