Ok, sure, you said kick. But you meant kick. Not… kick. Except it seems like that message wasn’t all too clear, because- Ho. Ly. Fuck. Your horns tore into her haunch just the way you wanted them to, years of practice giving you just the finesse you needed to pull off such an idiotic attack; however, it seems like you kind of fucked up somewhere along the way because your head is ringing like the Liberty Bell on the day of the declaration signing. So… what exactly happened? Let’s find out. Bob, can we get a replay? Thanks.

So like you so said, your horns dug into her skin, leaving blood on the tips of your horns and leaving you none too worried about what you’d done. So where was this mistake? Oh, yes… there it is- right there. That moment where you got so distracted looking at the blood on your horns that you forget to pick your head up and out of the way. And look, Snowflake just seized that moment and made it her own. Bob, that was just some really good offensive work on her part, don’t you agree?

Replays aside, you really are hurt. Snowflake’s hooves kicked you square in the side of the head- you know the part, just behind the eye where everything is super sensitive? Yup, one of them got you there. And the other one? You’re not really sure… you think it hit you on the bridge of the nose, but with the hits caused everything in your head to start spinning and go wonky. Your sinuses hurt. Your teeth hurt. Your eyes feel like they want to just go ahead and escape all the pain by evacuating themselves from your body.

And yet, despite all the pain and the fact that you kind of want to just curl up on the ground beneath you and not move for maybe like five minutes, you actually couldn’t be happier. Because that was the Snowflake you know. So yeah, you kind of screamed like a girl for a second there when she hit you, but now that you’re over it you start laughing. And the laughing doesn’t feel good at all, mind you- it hurts like hell, actually- but you’re laughing, because you’re happy, because that was what you needed.

“You did it,” you croak out betwixt grumbling giggles, and when you speak you find that there is some blood dripping out of your mouth. Did you bite your tongue? It doesn’t matter. The whole world is kind of spinning with the pounding of your head, so blood from your tongue kind of seems like it’s probably lowest on your ‘things to worry about’ list at this point. Besides, you’ve got other things to focus on- like walking. You try to move up Snowflake’s left side toward her front, stumbling like an idiot along the way, trying really hard not to crash into her or hurt her. Except maybe you do? Nothing’s really clear right now.

So, when you think you might be near her head, you go ahead and try to be “romantic” by nibbling along the top of her neck. You use nibbling loosely, since your head is still throbbing and you have no idea how hard you’re biting. God dammit, though, you’re trying, and you’re in the open, which is more than she’s gotten any other time she’s been around you. So maybe you bit a little too hard on accident, and maybe you crashed into her on your way up here, and maybe you hurt her when all you wanted to do was love on her and show her how happy you were that she was back to being herself.

Or maybe none of that happened and you were like the prodigal drunk who managed to speak the alphabet backwards, touch all your fingers to your nose, follow the pen with your eyes and walk a damned straight line down the sidewalk. Everything’s a little fuzzy. But your head is starting to clear up and so you try to do that whisper thing. You know, the thing where you talk really soft so everyone for miles around can’t hear your conversation? Yeah, that thing… you’re not really good at it, but you try anyways. “You have to be strong,” you croon, attempting to hang your head over her neck to pull her close.

And for once you find that you don’t care that you’re in the wide open where everyone can see. Let them see. This is your Snowflake and you will protect her. ‘Don’t leave me,’ she had said. You won’t.


@[Elsa]
Post| 3/3
WC| 775