No Time for Lies and Empty Fights
Like stunning clarion bells, the voice chimed against Hector’s astonished, pricked ears, and though it seemed to explode out of nowhere, the sound resonated brightly through the whole of the atmosphere surrounding. The language was explicit. There was no mistaking her intentions – it an inspiring war-cry – and hard, chipped hooves cut viciously into the soft Birdsong meadow as strapping legs pulled his lumbering body around and around, in a vain effort to place her.
Veci! Where is she? his thoughts bellowed as fiery eyes strained to penetrate the stubborn wall of damp white. Although in the back of his mind he knew of Cirrus’ coat’s tendency to mimic the weather patterns, the surprise element of her arrival and the excitement it roused, had buried that – perhaps vital – awareness. No, look for the hellhound! he commanded suddenly after a spilt second’s reassessment. The foul, jagged fangs of a canine appealed far less than any blunt bite from its companion. Above the soft swirling length of his mane, quivering, revolving ears listened fixedly through the pound of his pulse for any sound that might hint of her approach.
The muffled rumble of hooves striking grass at speed drew Hector promptly around in a full circle (to face the distant edge of the island). His scurrying, searching eyes found at last a blur of movement just off his right shoulder – it appeared that originally she had been targeting his left. Her looming form was as pasty as the mist and freakishly well camouflaged; the stallion snorted briskly before throwing open his monstrous wingspan and thrusting them down to perhaps dispel some of her mask. His effort came too little too late however.
She blends into the fog!
Neat, pointed, red ears flattened backwards - frustrated that he had ignored such a pivotal characteristic amid growing anticipation. With little time to spare, his shrewd, educated eyes swooped towards her and noted cunningly the darkest points visible around her frame (the long hair, legs and nose). That will help... he assured himself, drawing a long breath and leaning back heavily across bunched haunches to brace for the impending collision.
But Cirrus did not ram headlong into him as expected.
Hector waited, winced and readied himself, but to no avail. The sly child of the Ardent was bluffing. She swung hard instead to her right – she was small in comparison, swift upon her feet and far nimbler than he – and the giant watched powerlessly as her hindquarters lifted just off his left flank. He considered reaching out with snapping teeth to warn her thigh away and his thick neck snaked wildly to the tune of such logic; but his mass was too much of a burden against the litheness of her attack. Even as tightening hocks beneath urged his body forward, her hind legs – curved, rigid, black hooves - were rushing too eagerly to meet his flinching skin.
In a hopelessly vain attempt to avoid serious injury, he lifted his wings beyond her reach. It was all he could manage after committing already to the forward lunge. Her kick struck squarely their target, his round ribcage, and all air was driven from the stallion’s lungs with a heavy, WHOOP – hardly the bold trumpet of a Dragon Warrior. So too did his astonished eyes bulge briefly from their sockets before blinking hurriedly away the ensuing red-speckled gloom of unconsciousness.
Hector gasped to recover his breath but the first was horribly shallow. As air funnelled rapidly into his chest, the barrel encasing stretched and searing pain robbed him of breath a second time. He had suffered cracked ribs in the past however and found the nerve to inhale again, though the agony.
To continue, he would need to be able to breathe!
Jaws gasped again and oxygen filled his chest to capacity. Already leaning into a forward motion, Hector strode with gritted teeth after Cirrus with a brilliantly, naturally extended stride – his legs were far longer.
Find the damned wolf! he urged his companion again, but Veci had skirted the pair twice already unsuccessfully.
The tawny-coloured Tribrid had not the time to consider his bonded’s infuriating futility however; if the evolving plan in his mind held true, his decorated skull should have been nearing the vicinity of the mare’s right side (with any luck, her shoulder off to his left with her dark legs as a beacon). Audaciously given the ache still radiating through his core, Hector’s crest skewed abruptly beneath flailing soggy tendrils of mane and the larger of his horns – jutting with a slight backwards lean from his forehead – swung left, daring towards her. With no desire to maim her dreadfully (a slight tear somewhere to match the damage done to him, at least), Hector pulled his skull back after only a few seconds.
Attack: 1/3
Words: 799
@[Cirrus]
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[JUDGED] Sacred blood (Cirrus)
