To Africa, this spar held little significance other than an impulsive endeavour fuelled by the half-hearted want to better herself, to learn so she might more easily defend her family and friends. It was only right that a leader ought to be able to protect her home, right? She and Sohalia had skimmed only briefly over the topic when they’d discussed at length the future of the herd, their mutual lack of military ability. Maybe if she had continued by the arena and not watched the warriors clash, this fanciful idea that she bore some skill might never have come to fruition.

As it was, the one-winged Sultana had found for herself a rival that seemed on a superficial level not to exceed her own stature- she failed to consider the stew of magic and competency potentially concealed beneath immaculate beauty. When they came face to face though, a rather splendid blanket of vivid summer blooms and lush grass between, Africa began unexpectedly to question her decision. The gravity of this undertaking caused her mood very suddenly to plunge- the true nature of a whimsical, oversensitive parrot’s heart. “Africa, leader of Dragon’s Throat...” she answered, mirroring the pale, cremello mare’s introduction with a stiffening posture, voice touched by the smallest hint of regret. What am I doing?

Elsa was glamorous, as pristine as the first snow of the cold season, decorated so delicately in glacial blue that Africa wondered ridiculously if she might melt as they lingered on in the sun. The dull grey could barely pull her thoughts free from her own smothering sense of inadequacy...

Abruptly, the preoccupied fog glazing her eyes cleared.

There had been barely a second to spare between Africa’s own introduction and the icy-white mare’s blitz attack. Charcoal ears wavered amidst writhing flame as she hesitated, startled, watching doom descend like a dumbstruck idiot. Certainly her lack of experience was on full display. She swayed across suddenly trembling legs, unsure whether she would be able to ward off a front-on collision, or any collision; trolling in vain though uncooperative memories for aid, for an experience to draw from, but there was nothing. The thunder of Elsa’s advancing hooves was a terrible, intimidating distraction; she could not think straight, could not focus, wanted to yell, wait! I need one more second... but blunt marbled teeth clamped tightly across her panicking tongue.

Fear carved quickly through her gentle, playful expression.

The one-winged mare’s indecisiveness was as foolish as the feeble defence which followed. Africa’s thick neck leaned hard to the right as instinct overwhelmed all desire to face the impending threat, and rashly, she exposed her naked, scarred left shoulder in the process of escape. The thud as Elsa crashed headfirst into it was sickening, and the cry that her horrified body purged shattered the serenity of the rolling pasture around them. The Starry-Eyed toppled away from her rival, balance skewed completely on impact, and even the spontaneous flare of her only wing could not prevent the imminent fall. A rogue foreleg fought boldly the effect of gravity, thrust in vain to prop against her sinking weight, but it was too little too late, and feathers folded flush against her flank again, quickly.

Elsa’s snapping teeth had followed rapidly, hunting rippling skin as the body twisted beneath. Even before hitting the ground, as her face veered away from the rising grassy carpet, Africa felt the wrath of those jaws. The creamy-white mare bit unkindly the mottled grey hide across Africa's withers, pulling it away from the muscle beneath (though slack hardly existed there). The long, flailing tendrils of mane, too, caught between clamped incisors, and as Africa's rolling body pulled free the bruising skin from her attacker’s grip, a good handful was ripped from her flaming crest. Blood rushed to the skin’s surface- blue, red, purple blending together beneath the mask of her coat. Some leaked through a nasty gash where the last pinch had slipped free, and murky grey slowly turned muddy burgundy. As the breeze touched raw flesh, the wound instantly began to sting.

Africa's squeal was a mix of shock and pain. As she rolled heavily onto her winged-right side, legs flailed helplessly not altogether aiming to tangle between Elsa’s own, but available to do so (or strike out) if the chance arose. The momentum from the unfortunate collision allowed the stunned mare to roll completely over, though the manoeuvre was ungainly and hardly deliberate. Soon enough she was propped across trembling knees; rising swiftly, spurred on by adrenaline flooding through her core. Light amber eyes scurried to find the snowflake Pegasus, keen not to fail like that again, and that was when she noticed how unnaturally the face of the other mare sat. How very peculiar... she thought as she examined.

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Words 800
Intro (1/1)
Attack (1/3)
Defence (0/0)

@[Elsa] <3 <3