"Ow! What the fuck!?"

This clearly hadn't hadn't gone in the direction he had intended. There he had been, happy-go-lucky and fucking happy over nothing in particular, there she had been all lost in thought and since she hadn't noticed him sneaking up on her (he guessed so at least because he had never heard her turn, never noticed any shifting of weight of shuffling of hooves) he'd thought, why not play a little prank? Cue a rear clove digging up a sizable chunk of muck from the loose ground, a good estimation of distance and height judged by the sound of her breathing and scent - she smelled pretty interesting, mind you, like the air during a thunderstorm; he wondered why that was - and then he had lopped it over. Imagine the surge of pride and joy he felt when he heard the satisfying SMACK of mud upon ass, imagine the thrill he felt as she turned and spoke, sounding huffy and offended. Up until then things had gone fine.

What he hadn't counted on was the rather unprovoked attack. If she'd followed his example with the mud he could have played along, but horns? Now that was just plain pissy. All heads-up he got was the sudden sound of hooves splashing around, some slipping and shuffling; then a surge of premonition down the spine had urged the big, black stallion to move his sorry ass before it got skewered.
It was a shame really that he had to slip, unable to see the mud and the puddles as he were. The same right rear leg that he had lopped the mud with slipped as he moved, he careened off to the right and felt a searing, stabbing PAIN as something sharp (that he assumed was a horn) cut into his left buttock and scrape off out across the flank. Cue, 'ow' and 'what the fuck'.

"Come on, it was just a prank!" he growled with deep, raspy voice and shuffled off to the lright, feeling sweat pool over the neck as pain surged through the ass, down into the leg. He had no way of telling how deep it was, just knew that it was bleeding and that the cut felt long and jagged; grimacing wildly beneath the mask he inched around, not really in the mood to reciprocate but definitely not about to present his ass as target practice again. He lowered his own massive spears and slashed them around feebly, hoping to threaten the lass enough to back off; if she kept coming forward he wouldn't be responsible for what happened though.

"I don't feel like fighting, give it a rest, hey? I'm sorry about the mud, it was stupid of me, I apologize. Are we good?"

He had this creeping sensation however that 'sorry' wouldn't cut it. The tone of her voice had promised pain and suffering, so while he really did hope that the girl would agree to a cease-fire, Morir quietly prepared for more. After all, he wasn't so sweet-tempered that he'd let someone off easily for spearing his ass. He might take hers though, as a token of good faith - yes, that might do the trick, soothe his pains, so to speak. And without really meaning to, in response to his own wayward thoughts, the death-masked stag swelled, puffed out the chest and arced the neck just so, to display himself and his god-given glory before the distressing damsel.

_____________________
PC: 1/3
WC: 576
Ooc: Morir is hit by her horn in the left buttock, the wound long and shallow but painful. He withdraw to the left, then turn around, and while trying to persuade her into stopping he lower his own horns and slash them through the air down and up, not really trying to hit her but not sorry if he does either.

EDIT: super quick thing because I forgot word count!