The moon is a sickle above him. She has come early, promising night even as the sun wallows burning on a watery horizon. Caneo tastes dusk in the back of his throat. He tastes it in the cold bitterness of the waves and the long, hungry reach of eager shadows. Briefly, his pale gaze narrows and he watches the sea from his vantage point on this carcass of metal and dead wood. The moon will be there soon, reflected on the waves. It reminds him of something distant, a deep voice roaring a battle cry, telling him to run.

        He will not run today.

        Quickly, his attention snaps from reverie to the present. Earlier, he saved himself from the dragon. He is in danger once more, with strange dead trees rising from the cracked wood underfoot, and strange leaves billowing from their boughs. His ears twitch to the noise of garbled voices above; his eyes track the movement of small figures dressed in too-bright skins. A shudder, something like revulsion, tracks down the boy’s spine. He is too delicate to be here. He remains a thing of grace, his narrow body draped in folds of silk, from the veil trailing over a long face to the half-blanket swaying gently over his haunches. The boy’s tail twitches, and the silver bands down its length glint in the dying light. His layers of silk do little to hide the stark, bony shape of the body beneath. They do nothing to hide the stunted, keen-edged horn upon his brow. He wears that like a gemstone set in the top of his thin silver crown. There is danger in him, now, with the daylight slowly drowning and the sea denying him escape.

        He blinks, pale eyes finding the dark shape on the other side of the deck. It wears deep blue as if to echo the sea, and though it stands no taller than the silver boy, its darkness stretches wider than his fragile bones could ever dream. His eyes narrow over the broad limbs, skirt quietly up to the gleaming horn between the eyes – golden. It comes to a rapier edge, a promise of danger, and Caneo’s attention all focuses there at the tip. The silver boy moves then, and the deck under his hooves moves, too, so his gait is half grace and half uncertain staggering, tail held out like a counterbalance. He knows now two things: this other boy is heavier than he, and the stranger’s horn is dangerous but very long. The absence of wings means he ought to find other targets than those he picked out on the golden king; he looks at the boy’s muscular flanks, at the powerful legs. The boat rocks again, its cradle restless under a creaking bow, and when the deck tilts just enough to give him the implication of higher ground, his careful dance becomes a charge.

        Like thunder, the hollow footing rumbles beneath the boy’s cloven hooves. He swallows the distance of the last two strides with a bound, his limbs folding gracefully and snapping out to catch his weight. He hopes the movement is sudden, fearsome, confusing. He moves quickly as if doing so will leave his fear behind. Thinking of the last fight, Caneo approaches with his head low, ears pinned, skinny face a strange mask of wild-eyed uncertainty and killing solemnity. He aims at first for the stranger’s left shoulder, his skinny body thrusting forward hard, but just before he reaches it Caneo veers off and aims for the flank instead, his head raking up, eager to bring the point of his horn through flesh. He will cripple the enemy now, and when it can’t move, he will be free to do as he wants.

        The silver boy doesn’t waste time lingering after his strike. He keeps moving instead, aiming to clatter past the stranger’s haunches. Caneo’s own hind hooves surge up as he moves to aim a haphazard kick at the black and blue ribs on the left side. He wants to hurt as much as he can as fast as he can. His blood will not be coloring the moonlit waves tonight; he will not be falling with the sun. His head is up, his pale eyes scanning the deck, prepared to turn just before his hurtling body meets the railing at the edge. He is late in spying something from the sidelines coming at them both: one of the little creatures, with its own curved sword, coming forward with the thin edge gleaming in the light. He is not certain what it means, but he counts it as much a threat as the other boy, and keeps one ear cocked in that direction.

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attack: 1/2
word count: 787 words
notes: Caneo is dressed as a princess. He is wearing a narrow silver circlet across his brow, fastened to his horn. A fine veil of mostly transparent white material hangs down from it and over his nose, with an opening around his eyes. A half-blanket of similar material drapes his haunches, and connects to his tail via a series of thick silver bands.
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He made a feint with his horn toward Biru's left shoulder, then actually attacked farther back, aiming to draw the point up Biru's left flank. He intended to keep moving past Biru's haunches, and aimed a kick at the ribs on the left side, as well. I am assuming Anabelle is present, but your profile says she usually sticks to the sidelines in fights, so Caneo has not noticed her yet.
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@[Biru] do you want to be tagged throughout?

        Confusion rattles in Caneo’s brain. His aim has proven true, the proof of it a narrow slash through the black and blue flank. He expects to feel pain in return. Everything he knows of fighting, everything learned in his desperate struggle with the dragon-king, tells him to prepare for a counterattack.

        The boy sails away free.

        Like a man hewn of stone, this new opponent reacts at half speed. Caneo’s hooves slam into flesh, the ripple of impact a red thrill in his nerves, before the spotted boy even seems to wake up. Perhaps this new opponent means no harm? One silver ear twitches as confusion breaks through the desperate rush of Caneo’s first attack. He slows, long legs drawing beneath him, as the pitch of the deck thrusts his bony left side against a nearby railing. For a moment then Caneo leans there, head cocked back, blue eyes reflecting the strange hue of the enemy. It wears a fake smile, though the expression does little to lighten up the dull red of those eyes. Caneo is nimble in comparison; this realization breaks into his mind like the sear of sunlight over the water.

        He grows complacent.

        Triumph will ever be Caneo’s downfall. In hesitating, he invites a new attack from an unexpected corner: an errant cloud grows nearby, dark and ominous. With a snort the boy leaps away, rushing back across the deck. His weight is everywhere at once, a nervous clatter of excited hooves. Behind him, the shadow of his enemy lowers a golden rapier at last. Caneo’s answer is simple, immediate; his haunches lift up, preventing the horn from striking flesh and aiming to strike it instead, to cleave off the end with the force of flying hooves. Caneo is learning to use his haunches; he peers back, squinting through the flying mess of his veil, to gauge the hit. Some deep part of him, something he recognizes only distantly, hungers to hear a snap and to feel the weapon break.

        This smiling creature is not finished, of course. It swings toward him with the lurching tide, using his first strategy in turn against him. Fear bolts through silver nerves again. Eyes rolling, Caneo darts to the left. The thought of contact with this enemy repulses him; he will flee around the deck forever before he submits to fighting close. His hooves scrape against uneven boards, his weight bracing against the haphazard support of warped lumber and crooked nails. The sun, reluctant still to let a dark horizon swallow it for good, burns in the silver boy’s eyes. His costume glows with a radiant light; the bands along his tail spark silver. Still, Caneo finds himself blind to the beauty of it. He squints bitterly against the light and his only sense is pain, as a sudden line of brilliant fire opens up along his shoulder.

        With a squeal, Caneo dodges left and forward, tail lashing, confusion bright in his eyes. The joker was behind him – what is going on? He glimpses a little shadow then, and the flash of a longer blade than his own. That two-legged creature, so quickly forgotten despite his concern, has caught him as he crossed back over the deck. The tip of her blade runs dark with blood to match the shallow scrape across Caneo’s right shoulder. Rivulets of blood stain Caneo’s silver flesh; it stings. With an indignant squeal he bolts, reckless and shining, toward the narrow walkway at the back of the room.

        He forgets the spotted boy as he runs. Flight, that strongest of all his instincts, burns through his mind.

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attack: 2/2
word count: 603 words
notes: He ran away from the dark mist, and so was running back across the deck as Biru moved to stab, so he was a bit in front of the motion and instead of being scraped by it, kicked at Biru's horn/face with his back legs. When Biru tried to ram, Caneo changed direction slightly to run further left, toward the walkways at the back of the room. In doing so, he ran back into the pirate and she slashed his shoulder. He was so confused and surprised he kept running, hoping to reach the narrow walkway.
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@[Biru] no need to tag me :)

        He meant only to gain better ground.

        Though the silver boy knows flight far better than swordplay, he understands how futile any attempt at real escape might be. He wants only to put distance between himself and that crazed two-legged thing, expecting the black and blue creature to follow. He means to squeeze through the walkway and into whatever space lies beyond, where he might turn and rake at his foe again, or show the other boy his hooves for a third time. The stranger does no good at dodging them; that broader body is slow, and the mind behind the red eyes dull.

        Caneo judges this with certainty.

        Perhaps the silver boy overestimates himself. Perhaps he mistakes a little too much luck for skill, and that is why he bothers to cock one eye back as he nears the chokepoint of the walkway. His idiotic veil swings still across his features, and combined with the impressive light of that stubborn, bloated star on the horizon, forces the boy to narrow his eyes. His attention flickers across the point of the golden horn at his back. The enemy lost ground in a brief struggle with the two-legged creature; blood washes over the dark hide, much as blood runs in small rivulets down Caneo’s lean shoulder. The wound on the silver flesh is shallow, though. It stings, but Caneo moves forward unimpeded by its hurt, spurred on if nothing else. He is confident in outpacing the other boy enough to gain high ground again.

        He is mistaken.

        Some irregularity in the floor, or perhaps the ceaseless pitch of the waves, trips him up. One cloven toe catches the boards beneath him just as he passes into the narrow place, metal railings close on either side. With a surprised gush of breath, the boy flails downward. His left forelimb buckles; the bones of the knee meet a combination of splintered, long-dead trees and rusted nails. There is blood now, under the skin – and blood leaking out of friction scrapes, too. The silver creature struggles to surge upward, but his enemy is here at last, and he feels teeth close over his right hind limb, over the unprotected bone. At any other time, in any other place, Caneo might laugh at the absurdity, the idiocy, of such an attack. Green as he is, he sees no reason for anyone to attack his legs, and were he standing, the response would be immediate – a hard kick, right into the fool’s face.

        Caneo is not standing – not quite.

        He has not fallen completely, but he has taken a knee, and as he scrambles up he finds no method to protect himself. Instead he merely snarls, his face a silent mask of irritation – indignation. He thought himself better than this dull, plodding animal. He is cleverer by far! And faster! All the same, he spies blood running down his cannon bone, blood bright as it springs out from under torn flesh. He moves to turn, some instinct baring his young teeth, preparing to bite the fool in the face, but caught by the narrow walkway he succeeds only in ramming his left flank against the metal railing. His injured limbs cry out, sore and pathetic. Fine. One blue eye rolls coldly in the enemy’s direction, but without taking further action, Caneo merely limps forward, annoyed now more than he has ever been. He should have cut the beast in two – he should have blinded it. Instead he has succumbed to a stupid mistake, and leaned too hard on his own dishonest pride.

        The next foe, if he finds one, will not be so lucky.

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defense
word count: 608 words
notes: Caneo tripped and skinned his left knee quite badly, which allowed Biru to easily catch up and take a good bite out of the lower right hind leg, scraping skin from the bone and causing a good deal of pain, as well as bleeding.