No Time for Lies and Empty Fights
Hector gave the petite Arab (dished profile, dark doe eyes; she could only be) points for her stubborn display of dauntlessness, audacity - or perhaps he was just glorifying stupidity. It seemed she was not deterred by the Boggart’s sadistic attack at all.
In fact, as she stood gasping and gulping, starved of oxygen, the watching stallion noticed a very visible shift in her demeanour. It was not fear that pinched her pretty, feminine features. Through the rain and dusk’s shadow, he saw flesh clench beneath her bronze, water-logged coat, and rising anger flatten narrow ears back along the flaxen hair limp across upon her poll - this language was unmistakable and Hector swayed reluctantly across flexing knees.
Why... he groaned, very nearly rolling his eyes; though only Veci who was by then circling both hoofed beasts, was capable of accessing that aspect the stallion’s blooming frustration.
Again her clumsy voice stumbled through the murk - but it was louder this time, sharper, and the riled message upon it was clear. Her roused temper seemed to come at him like a tumbling wall, brick, or something equally as stunning. It startled the giant enough to cause his forequarters to jerk back abruptly. His weight spilt heavily across balanced, tightened hocks, tail beneath flinching wildly, flinging sand and water as it lashed like a stricken snake. Likewise, as her frame lunged unexpectedly forward, his crest swerved left defensively leaving ribbons of water streaming out in wake of his flailing copper mane.
She was like mighty-mouse, and he the elephant, taken aback entirely.
The glint of marbled white, of the mare’s bared blunt teeth, caught his right eye as his skull swung clear of her rapid approach. Thin golden lashes all matted with water, fluttered tentatively for a moment and then burst open around flashing eyes. Burning pain erupted from the bony prominence which marked the ‘point’ of his (tattooed) right shoulder. The ache branched as she pulled viciously at his tight wet pelt before receding again quickly, when her grip slipped away. His shoulder was left stinging, bleeding, and prickling wildly as a result of both bruised and exposed nerve-endings. So too did his poise waver, slightly. The copper Tribrid felt the impact of her meagre assault shudder through his sternum, but coiled thigh muscles held him well through it.
The stallion snorted tersely a cloud of spiralling steam. He was both impressed and incensed by the small Equine’s pluck; an ant standing ground! Veci did naught to ease his bonded’s growing mortification either, rolling about the arena like pointless fog, cackling with delight.
Orange-flecked wings unfurled promptly as his body lurched forward through residual pain, and he drove them down heavily to improve his momentum in the boggy sand as he went after her fleeing pale rump. Hector endeavoured to close the opening distance between them and took smug pleasure in charging right through his stagnant companion.
She was nimble though, lightweight, and it seemed too quick upon her spindly legs for her own good. The mare paused and swivelled to face him with speed that the hulking warrior could never hope to match. Again the soft hue of her form lingered before him; though horribly close this time, wrapped tight in evening’s blanket, rain streaming from her tapering, tiny jaw.
"Oh, forgive me..." he choked anxiously, bothered, and plagued by testosterone - yet not for one second intending to do her true harm.
Hindquarters sank heavily and the hard, round hooves beneath drove down deeply under his braced mass - as though quicksand were their perch. The stallion’s well padded breast lifted in unison with his knees and he leaned left from the shoulder, as hard as he dared (given the nature of their environment, the quagmire below). Hector’s right wing, the flared, water-wielding appendage that should had been nearest to her, lifted high into the air; perpendicular, to aid the motion of his movement. The other reached far out to the left to try to better balance the awkward, half-rearing, twisting manoeuvre; to avoid a full collision yes, but also in hope that he would not fall on his face in the process.
If a crash turned out to be inescapable after all, Hector hoped to graze by her right shoulder, her wingless side, and perhaps only throw her off centre.
To the ground...
At least.
Words: 728
Attack: 2/3
Defence: 0/1
.svg/2000px-Google_Chrome_icon_(2011).svg.png){kind=icon}
⇒
[JUDGED] Thrills and Spills | Dröm
