No Time for Lies and Empty Fights
Stale air gushed from Hector’s lungs as the thrust of his airborne hooves collided with the invisible mare’s thigh (not nearly as forcefully as he had intended), and irritated, copper-red ears fastened backwards. Of course he had no real wish to disable his smaller, feminine, colleague - there was a point to prove though, and the thrill of testosterone spewing through his bloodstream did little to quell a growing sense of rivalry.
The impact jolted instantly down the length of long, strapping hind-legs and rattled though the solid stallion’s core more violently than it should have. The shock seemed to ricochet like a dozen free ball-bearings, all drumming against the damaged bone in his ribcage. It’s a gift that just keeps giving! ...his mind hissed bitterly, and pure exasperation coloured an irrepressible sigh as it heated the vaporous air beyond his nostrils.
As if to pour salt into his already wounded pride, Hector recalled conveniently the whipping he had taken recently from the puny Arab chestnut called Drõm. Suddenly, the veteran warrior wanted nothing more than to mash his horned forehead into the grass. Surely this pattern of ridiculous inaptitude was running thin already...
Gravity cared little for his hurt vanity however and promptly pulled his brawny backside down again, to stand naturally parallel to the earth. It was in that moment that he realised just how quickly he was tiring. Between heavily muscled buttocks, sweat lathered and his liver chestnut pelt had turned a sodden, sleek black.
Though in his prime and well fit for battle, Hector’s stamina fell easily short of these smaller, lither opponents (few were ever comparable in size).
Both mind and logic screeched for him to leap forward and away from her reach, yet his hulking frame could not move quickly enough. Fortunately, the warning stroke of a feathered wing-tip against his hot thigh spooked adrenal glands to release a fresh kick of hormones, and with jaws snapping, the stallion propelled hastily forward.
He turned his right eye back to find Cirrus, but through midnight’s cloak, the effort seemed futile. The only evidence to suggest her presence was the rush of feathers cutting through air - thick impenetrable fog - and the awfully muffled churn of her hooves in the lush carpet of grass. The sound of his harried breathing and the thundering pulse in stressed ears, both quickly overwhelmed any ability to observe.
As a surge of freak wind chilled his wet coat, the soldier called out to his companion, the hellhound Veci, use their bond against her! If Cirrus’ companion was truly absent, then surely they could take advantage of the pair’s separation.
Utterly delighted by the opportunity to terrorize the poor mare, the Boggart promptly slipped from the sideline towards the thrum of her mind, and poured himself into a wavering apparition across her path. It took all of his wicked concentration to become Sitka – lying, crying, dying in the grass – and even despite his brilliant effort; aided by the stern will of his bonded, the vision was still awkwardly unstable. He was a plain type after all and nowhere near as potent as the royal sort of his species.
Abruptly Hector’s churning legs halted, and pumping nostrils lifted quizzically, to taste the dense atmosphere. All train of thought had been interrupted.
The stench of rain was ripe about him – absurdly so, there had been so sign of it at all prior. Without warning a sarcastic curtain of water fell across the motionless stallion, drowning effectively his upturned face and spittle sprayed out from a dismayed snort. Wonderful... he thought tersely and pinned his ears back. Thankfully his coat was quickly cooled in the process, freshened – the sweat and lather washed from his skin – and his mind quickly sobered as the patter of forming puddles rose above the pound of his racing heart.
He gulped hard. The task of finding Cirrus, no doubt, would be just as straightforward as finding a Boggart in the woods. The war was not over though...
Hector began to turn right with wings lifting to each side - a last resort effort to perhaps barrel like a blundering blind-man into her – but a bizarre whistling through the weather beyond made him hesitate. Out of nowhere (it seemed), the spear whose end had clubbed his throat just before, came shrieking towards him and no back-tracking shuffle could prevent its cruel strike. The weapon lanced clean through his skin as intended, skimming the humerus nestled beneath muscle within, and the stallion roared in rampant agony towards the heavens.
The speared wing sank lifelessly towards the saturated loam beneath – dead weight, though the injury was excruciating - and the giant reached frantically for Veci. Take the breath from her lungs!
All the while, bright specks began to cloud his eyes.
Attack: 3/3
Words: 800
@[Cirrus]
Note: Veci used Suffocate: can draw the air out of another's lungs, making them feel like they cannot breathe. He also did this - they automatically assume a form of what any character around them fears most...
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[JUDGED] Sacred blood (Cirrus)
