Theatricality and deception are powerful agents.
You must become more than just a man
in the mind of your opponent

All is silent – stoic.

Dead might be a better word to describe the scene. Tall, gnarled trees hunched their backs away from the setting sun. Their weathered statues held in silent lamentation and pleadings. They’ve endured great hardships during the prolonged season of Tallsun and now they are dealing with a new intruder. The intruder is lethal, bringing a slow and silent death. Bleeding the territory of life until as one’s eyes will come to pass across the lands and find no leaves clinging to the skeletal branches. Yet this is no epic story of the prevalence of good over evil, this is nature’s story; far more twisted and forthright. And so, death played its fingers over the stems, its hands soft and strong (death does not have to be brutal and harsh, it can be soft and gentle) and, in the peace and silence they all turned slowly into Orangemoon’s blazing colors.

Soon, one by one they will fall to litter the forest floor.

At times like these, when the cinder beast found himself brooding, he removed himself from the high trafficked areas of The Edge. It was a little early in the year to be retreating into some hidey-hole though; he usually waited until storm season raged. Locking himself away was never the best course of action. His dark thoughts just ran round and round in endless circles about his mind like puppies chasing their tails and he became stuck. Not many things would unglue him, a tentative call to arms – distinctly feminine – least of all. Perhaps the blood-curdling scream of an invader would have set his blood afire. Let one of the conscripts do their job and answer her request.

There was a flicker of movement at his feet, so sudden that if Cineviam had blinked, he would have missed it. The pile of ash before his front hooves had stirred and settled again. He didn’t understand why the supernatural, black, little motes were against him in this matter and required action from him. Perhaps they knew something he didn’t about the one who issued the call, or maybe deep down he doubted his decision to hone his mind and diplomatic skills as an Emissary. A spar would keep him sharp, fit, a double-edged sword.

Whatever the reason, the ash always won in the end.

The cinder beast stirred from his lair and lumbered in the direction he believed the call came from. A few strides later, the black powdered corrected his course slightly and soon he entered the large clearing where he had kept her waiting. Red eyes quickly surveyed the scene. Apparently no one else had been tempted by her challenge, and then his gaze flicked over to size up his opponent.

“You rang?” he cooed darkly to her.

Theatricality and deception are powerful agents.
You must become more than just a man
in the mind of your opponent

There was no symbolic darkening of the sky or gathering of colossal storm clouds heavy with the forecast of a great clash between warriors. There will be no momentous scattering of wild life or any frightened screams of the innocent about to witness an invasion that would decide everyone’s fate. No, it’s only a spar and Cineviam stood in stoic and analytical silence as she turned to face him and seemed to weigh his attributes carefully. At least he wasn’t about to fight a completely clueless mare. In his father’s army, a female warrior was few and far between and until Faelene proved she was up to snuff, he would continue to doubt her abilities.

Not that her physical appearance lacked the potential for the battlefield. From this distance, she appeared to stand only a few inches shorter than him. A wicked looking horn protruded from her forehead, the color of her coat led one to imagine she was carved from stone and drenched in blood. However, Cineviam was built of superior stuff. The Iberian half of his bloodline was known for its prowess as a warhorse and bullfighting and the draft blood gave him dense bone and additional power.

Grey ears dart forward and caught her answer. It seemed that he wasn’t the only one uncertain of her skill and since she was a fellow member of the World’s Edge that was unacceptable. “Peace won’t last forever, if the lady needs practice then she shall have it,” he growled, slipping into a fighter’s mindset with ease. The trick is to be detached - to think both in the moment and the future - and play, not merely a game of strength and speed, but a game of wit and strategy as well. Like a participant in a chess game, one must think the battle through to the very end - anticipating every choice of oneself and one’s opponent, as well as the consequences of such choices, all done within a split second.

Having been trained since birth, Cineviam had a deep well of experience to draw from. He already had a possible course of action planned and the mare asking for him to go first played right into his hands. Dipping his head in acceptance, he felt anticipation mounting in his veins but he doesn’t let it get the best of him. Instead, he transitioned smoothly from a standstill into a balanced canter. He does not approach her head on but in a roundabout way, as if meant to circle her counter clockwise at a closer distance than from where they had started conversing. But his motives are never so one dimensional. Cineviam would position himself purposefully so that the setting Sun would be behind him and his fellow herd mate would get the full glare while trying to watch for his first assault

Though there are many attacks that he could make, Cineviam has long decided that starting with the hindquarters would be the most beneficial. A closer look at the hindquarters would reveal several strong and important muscles, that if bruised would sap the power out of any attempted attack from them, from then on. He had completed a half-circle as he came around the back of Faelene, the soot-stained stallion dove in close than faced himself away again at an angle to Faelene’s right side. Clearly seeing his body within excellent range… and that was all the confirmation that the cinder beast needed. He threw his weight to the front of his body, and lifted his hind legs out of the mist blanketing the ground. Like a gunshot, he let his legs fly. There was no fear of retaliation, he didn’t move immediately into safety, but allowed his legs to extend to their fullest – the most devastating. Only when they grounded again did Cineviam scoot out mare’s kicking zone. He didn’t move far, only giving himself enough breathing room to see an assault coming.

Your move.

Theatricality and deception are powerful agents.
You must become more than just a man
in the mind of your opponent

In the violent and fluid dance between two competitors, the routine of attack and defense, it was her turn to try and land a devastating blow. His ears were turned backward, listening for immediate pursuit but she was still recovering from the kick to her right rear. Smug satisfaction settled in the pit of his stomach, it had been a well-executed and successful plan of attack. The mare had done next to nothing to evade his hoof, he wasn’t sure if she had even seen it coming. He gave himself about four strides of breathing room before wheeling about to contemplate her body movements and try to stay one step ahead of her.

Then the impossible happened – Faelene caught him off guard.

Later, when Cineviam had the chance to soak on what happened, he would recognize the mistake and learn from it. But for the moment he thought everything was progressing perfectly. The sun was behind him again, warming his back and caused his shadow to stretch out and cover the distance between him and his opponent. He wondered briefly if Faelene was a fast learner and if she would try to use the sun while she still had the chance, it was about to dip below canopy of the thick trees. If not, he could pull her aside later and discuss how to use her surroundings to her advantage in battle. He was about to get his answer, however, as she had started her charge in his direction.

He does not panic. Crimson eyes scrutinized her body, waiting for her weight to shift to her hind end indicating that she might rear in front of him. Perhaps she might switch leads or her head might lean slightly in one direction in preparation of veering to one side of him. What confused him was that she didn’t decelerate at all. Even though he knew Faelene was inexperienced on the battlefield, it was unfathomable that she should choose to crash into him and risk injuring herself further. By choosing to barrel right into him, she had stolen away precious seconds of his reaction time, and caught him heavy-footed. He could hear a voice of a superior, nothing but a distant memory, drilling it into his head to remain light on his hooves or to keep his weight on his hind if there was any doubt. Cineviam is left scrambling to try to get out of the way but was much too late.

A rogue branch hiding under the mist further impeded his progress.

The best he managed to accomplish was to displace the blow from his shoulder where Faelene intended to hit him to just behind the girth area toward the middle of his barrel. Usually a horse carried 60 percent of its weight on its front end, so it was important to Cineviam to try to preserve it if he could. Additionally, the force behind the contact of her shoulder to his obliques was distributed over a much larger space than a hoof. He doubted a broken rib or internal damage would result but he felt the shock of the impact run the length of his skeleton – from his teeth to his hooves. All the air rushed out of his lungs in a long groan and he knew he wouldn’t be twisting about as easily to dodge further attacks.

The bow bend in his body has effectively trapped her against him for the moment; she would have to take a couple of steps backwards for her to be free to move in any direction again. Hopefully he had come to the conclusion before Faelene since he decided to use her close proximity instead of having to chase her down to get another assault in. However, his body and lungs no longer cooperated with how quick his mind was working. It took him longer than expected to back up and turn – grimacing all the while – so that they were standing face-to-face.

He half-reared, a common practice for wild horses, his haunches lowered to keep a low center of gravity, so if Faelene thought to jostle him, Cineviam was confident that he would regain his footing rather than falling. Lunging forward, mouth agape, he aimed a bite Faelene’s cheek just below her eye. This is only a distraction; his real motive is to use his impulsion and gravity to drive his hooves towards her front legs. He was prepared to make the necessary adjustments for any small step she made in effort to swing her face away. Of course if she didn’t, he was also willing to chomp down.

He rather enjoyed leaving his mark - just ask Torasin.

Theatricality and deception are powerful agents.
You must become more than just a man
in the mind of your opponent

Cineviam hit his targets but they weren’t as successful as he hoped.

The threat to mark her face drove her head away as he intended but that was all that went according to plan. Faelene had reared too, so only one of his hooves clipped her quite low on her foreleg. The fact that her foot is off the ground reduces the force of the blow somewhat – without the resistance of her weight against the earth, her leg is able to give a bit with the impact. The lack of satisfaction with the assault to her legs was traded for some pleasure from actually catching the bottom of her cheek between his teeth.

Since Cineviam had only half-reared and lunged forward at her, he gained the ground first. Faelene had started to teeter and he could guess that because he was below her, she would strike at him from above as she descended. Since her tender underbelly was exposed to him, he could risk taking the blows from her front hooves and gouge her with his horn or he could try to dodge. He supposed that she was more use to the World’s Edge alive than dead.

Still he decided to take a chance.

He dropped his head to chest level, trying to protect it from her flailing hooves as he darted to the left (her right). He aimed to drive his shoulder into Faelene’s sensitive stomach, maybe knock her off balance as she tried to land. Cineviam didn’t want his horn to gouge her deep but to scrape along her right haunch. One of her hooves caught him high on his neck to the right of his crest as he passed beneath them. The pain is searing at first as the muscles that run along the top of the neck are undoubtedly bruised. Later, when his muscles cooled, Cineviam would probably hold his head high or off to the right slightly to shorten the muscles. While it was sore, he didn’t think it would affect his performance too much during the remainder of the fight.

Theatricality and deception are powerful agents.
You must become more than just a man
in the mind of your opponent

Some of the intensity in his red eyes had ebbed away when Cineviam heard Faelene’s squeal of pain. He hit the brakes and turned while he was behind her to see what was happening and the silvery-black mare was down on one knee. A trace of remorse threaded through his chest, it was only a practice session after all. While he had thought he had taken some of the edge off – not attempting to rip her open and let her guts spill out – he still could have done more. Instead of being greedy and taking a stab at the haunch he’d already injured with his initial kick, he could have been content to knock her off balance. Of course, he was feeling all this responsibility over a mare he continued to underestimate.

Faelene soon got all four hooves squarely back under her and his gut clenched, realizing the vulnerable position he was in. He faced the same direction she did, and stood directly behind her. Instinct drove him to move and quickly, while his intellect screamed to move to the right – always aware of what has happened so far. The weaker, injured leg caught him in the left pectoral muscle, while all the strength in her left leg sailed into the empty air next to him. Pain flared immediately in the sensitive area. He continued to move to the right and then forward to pull up alongside her, and pain flared again in the area when he came to a stop.

“Alright, that’s enough damage for one spar… Don’t you think? he said gruffly, though the rough tone was put on for show. A welt was beginning to puff up on his chest where it throbbed dully and his mane was in disarray, hiding another welt on his neck. However, his mood had grown remarkably lighter since the beginning of the fight, as tempers generally did for males when some pent up toxic energy was released through roughhousing. He turned and grimaced as his ribs reminded him that they had taken a blow too, and took a better look at her haunch that had taken most of the abuse.