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.