No Time for Lies and Empty Fights
The fog was thickening into soup (hidden of course by the hue of night) and it threatened to drown any awareness Hector fumbled to maintain. Perhaps searching for the rushing smear of her sooty-black legs through the dark had been a foolish ambition – it did not serve as the inspiration he had so hoped for after all. She seemed mostly invisible, with steps impossible to trace while the supple, spring-grass cushioned her tread; the weather-wearer was imperceptible, save for the unpredictable effort of her breath here and there.
It became quickly apparent that she was just beyond reach of his endeavouring skull. The largest of his curving ivory horns struck nothing but the delicate billow of misty-moisture, and though the other (smaller, perched inconspicuously atop thinning nasal bone) did collide with some point of her rolling sinew, the victorious surge of adrenaline which he would naturally have expected was overwhelmed instead by a roar of pain through his core.
Again he was choked of breath...
The agony stemming from the damaged rib - the resonating sting of bruised tissue around it - provoked a bitter snarl to twist the stallion’s lips. The injury Cirrus had dealt him had become both an untimely and unexpected burden that he had not voluntarily thought to heed. Hector surrendered helplessly and thus was unable to avoid the line of his travelling body as it bent awkwardly left to follow the swing of his head. It seemed he had been quite unable to fight through the overbearing agony as battered muscles wrenched to execute the seemingly straightforward manoeuvre - his intention had been to continue forward...
Sweat oozed from gaping pores as his hulking body toiled on to the tune of his veteran mind, and as it combined with the damp, cloudy atmosphere, copper turned into rich mahogany-brown.
I’ve become the wretched beacon tonight... he thought sourly, half expecting the hellhound’s piercing canines to sink callously then into his leg. No such event transpired however and as the radiating pain began to subside once again, he probed Veci’s mind for answers. Still the Boggart had failed to find the creature – Hector was wondering by then, if the mare’s companion was even on the scene! The notion seemed ridiculous indeed, but what other explanation could there have been?
Apparently, in the meantime, Cirrus had again used her lesser, feminine grace to turn (or duck, he couldn’t tell) swiftly away from the soldier’s lumbering position.
Fog twirled playfully in the wind as their moving bodies stirred it to life; fuelling Hector’s ravenous lungs and cooling the hot, damp canvas of his skin. From somewhere outside his field of vision (but near enough at least, to cause him concern) there was the distinctive clacking of teeth, and narrow ears tipped warily towards the sound that so very vaguely alluded to her location. He snorted brashly through flared nostrils and thick, muscular legs ceased all movement; he waited beneath an ever expanding cloud of anticipation for something to happen. Long bony tail switched left and right suspiciously, as though - while he paused in limbo - it was the only way he could release pent up adrenaline from his system.
Wide-open eyes strained vigilantly through the fog; fighting a losing battle against both the gloomy hour and the weather; the mare’s enchanted appearance. Yet Hector’s warrior-heart was never discouraged.
All of a sudden there was a rush of movement in front of him – the subtle but menacing flash of a pale, silver point - and Hector’s large, round hooves scuttled backwards in surprise. The ungainly burst of backward motion was no match for her weapon-wielding advance though. With wings apart she crowded his personal space brilliantly, and all he could do was jerk right (away also, from next explosion of pain through his barrel) with his skull dancing high, away from her reach. The golden-red pattern of flames licking up the length of his throat was exposed as he swung, and the landing wooden length of her spear battered it heavily.
It was not as fierce an injury as the first thankfully - a gruff cough and a bruised windpipe, both being tolerable in comparison. He was able to ignore it sufficiently enough and hold focus (thanks to coursing hormones), and unfurling his monstrous wingspan to balance, Hector rolled his shoulders forward; driving his weight down into plunging front-hooves.
Enough is enough...
The petite Pegasus had played the upper hand well - however - as he collided with the spongy grass, the earth beneath shuddered unnaturally. The tiring giant chose sensibly not to waste time turning to see whether she had toppled. Instead, while using the same continuing momentum, bony, spring-like hocks uncoiled and the stallion’s burly hind-quarters lifted a powerful, bucking kick towards where presumably, Cirrus still lingered.
Attack: 2/3
Words: 800
@[Cirrus]
Notes: Hector used War Stomp: A single stomp of the hoof can lightly rattle the ground and throw an opponent off balance.
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[JUDGED] Sacred blood (Cirrus)
