When his hooves hit the ground, the last thing Bucephalus expected was for the dun to charge him. So when that mass of brown and black hurtled towards him, Buce did what any sane man would do. He jerked his head back and flared his wings to rear up and shy away, but by the time his forehooves left the ground again the Wildfire was upon him.

Pain tore through his shoulder as flesh was ripped by the jagged spikes. Oh shit. That hurt. Gritting his teeth Buce leaned with Gaucho, turning his body to follow the dun's momentum so he could avoid ripping open the wound further, a pained whistle slipping past his lips. Ears pinned back against tangled locks as legs lashed out towards Gaucho, hooves eager to hit any part of him they were able to. His shoulder cried out in protest at the movements, the spikes digging in deeper but Bucephalus braced himself against the pain, determined to get his pound of flesh from Gaucho. He would not loose so horribly this time. Of that he was determined. He jerked his head to the side to try and bite at Gaucho's neck while his collar still bound them together, and the movement was just in time.

Mara's long body lashed out, and the black felt the air whip past his ear from her strike. He quickly turned his focus from Gaucho's neck to his serpent, head twisting and teeth snapping towards Mara. He tried to bite her, to grab her so he could pull her from her perch atop Gaucho's head. She, not Ampere, was Gaucho's mortal flaw in this fight. And he intended to do everything in his power to remove the companion from play.

But as he lunged for Mara there was an odd sort of tugging sensation on his wing, and he instinctively jerked it back, letting out a squeal as feathers tore from where Gaucho's teeth had grabbed the arc of his wing rather than the joint. The most sensitive place on his wings aside from the primaries themselves. The pain made his eyes water, and he blinked the tears away, an expression of pure fury on his face.

Oh HELL no.

The black whirled like a dervish away from Gaucho, not caring if he had managed to tear Mara away from Gaucho's antlers or not. His ears flattened and eyes burning as he bounded forward, long legs eating up the ground as his wings pumped to get his body airborne. Buce's shoulder cried in agony at the rough, jarring motions, but the black gritted his teeth and rode the waves of pain, his mind, his will, focused solely for now on getting this battle into the sky. Once airborne, he wheeled in a circle, gaze locked on Gaucho. This fight he would keep in the air, pit wings against wings. Liquid heat dripped down his shoulder, pain like fire seeping through his shoulder, his wing and his leg. But his anger overrode it.

One does not simply rip out the Morningstar's feathers. Hell to the fucking no. Bucephalus had every intention of tearing out Gaucho's feathers as he flew until the brute could no longer fly and fell to the ground in defeat. Blood boiled and sang, body trembled with a growing fury that wiped his mind clear. Morrigan was forgotten. His sins, his troubles, his worries, his masks. Gone. Every cell in his body was preparing for this fight, dealing with the damage he already took and preparing plans of attack.

The Morningstar against The Wildfire. Oh what a glorious song it would have made had Bucephalus given a rat's ass.

Word Count: 611 Tags: @[Gaucho]