The sand is doing it's job, and while our own eyes are squinted against the onslaught of sand from every backstroke, we care little. At her struggles to see, we grin like a wolf, the satisfaction welling within our breast is a delight, and we savor each moment she flounders. Let the bitch be blinded by the very place she desired to call 'home'! Let her see that fucking with the Morningstar was the worst idea she could possibly think of! Already we can picture her forced apology, sweet and delicious as revenge tends to be. Loosing mattered little to us, truly, we would still have the satisfaction of seeing our marks upon that coat to remind her that we were not to be trifled with.

Suddenly, she moves, differently than before, sending something hurtling towards us, something of a silver as wicked as Mara's belly. We bend our forelegs quickly, sending us to our knees as we drop to avoid the silver streak. Searing pain slithers across the top of our right shoulder, the weapon leaving a long yet shallow wound. Heat, something not exactly wanted in the sun's growing presence, drips down from the gash, and the pain tinges our vision red.

The. Fucking. Bitch.

Oh, she was going to REGRET doing that.

She draws close, and it gives us a chance we relish.

Quickly, spine bends taut like a drawn bowstring before we explode into movement, trying to shove against the mare on her way past us and into the sky. Hopefully that would disrupt her flight enough to give us a chance to get airborne as well. Swiftly we get to our feet, sprinting away from the dust storm we had created, our strong wings pumping the air, demanding that it carry us into the realm of danger and adrenaline.

We are granted entrance.

Quickly our body ascends, gaze locked upon the sky-mare as we gain altitude, every feather practically singing, each one oh so critical to the maneuvers we hold dear. In this, she would have the advantage... if she could only blind me as I had her down below. Her dark head and legs, and the top of her wings did not change as the sky did, no.

That was our clue, that was her weakness.

"Tell me dear woman, have you ever danced with a falcon?" We call, flashing a grin towards her. Our angle changes, and we climb, higher and higher to try and put distance between our body and hers. The wind was our lover, our mistress, the entity that never let us down(except for when she did. Then it hurt). We take a deep breath of the crisp, cool air as we climb, taking stock of our various pains. Worst of the wounds seemed to be the tear down our neck, it burned and hurt and throbbed and shit did it hurt. More than we would have thought, considering how little it had hurt when she first introduced those lovely pearly whites to our dark hide.

We shove the pain inventory away, focusing our thoughts as we reach prime altitude. Our gaze drifts, focusing upon the dark head of the sky-mare, picking her out with ease due to her dark points. We hover for less than a single heartbeat, the wind shifting our position and our feathers make changes accordingly, before we tuck wing and dive. We have control over this, each feather playing a crucial role, keeping us on trajectory with the sky-mare, twitching and making minuscule adjustments to keep us balanced an in control. A piercing whistle fills the air as the wind is sliced by our wings, the screech only growing louder the faster we go.

We move as we near her, opening our wings and dropping our rear, tucking our body in like a hawk ready to snatch it's prey. However instead of grabbing, all four legs curl against our body, then snap out in an attempt to barrage her right side with four strikes backed by the weight of our body and the momentum of our dive. The very same momentum carries us onward, and we go with it willingly, dropping a few feet in height before we get the wind beneath us, and once more we ascend, trying to put distance between our body and the sky-mare's.

We do not move slowly, muscles are milked for every ounce of speed we can manage. Stamina would be key in this fight, although we didn't know this mare's limits as we did Gaucho's. All in all, we were fighting(mentally) blind, against an opponent we did not know well enough.

And Gods it was exhilarating.



Summary: Cirrus's spear hits Bucephalus across the back, rather than the side, and it leaves a long but deep cut across the top of his right shoulder. As Cirrus moves to her left Bucephalus rears, hoping to knock her ascension off-kilter(Since he moved to her left side and she ran towards her left) before he too takes to the air. He climbs into the sky, then falls in a controlled dive to try and hit Cirrus's body with all four hooves, slowing his descent somewhat before he lets his momentum carry him onward, where he attempts to fly off and keep distance between himself and Cirrus.
WC: 778 according to wordcounter.net
Attack: 2/4
Closing Defense: 0/1
Tag: @[Cirrus]
Other: 8I I'm having too much fun with this.

Bucephalus the Morningstar

My revolution carries me...
My revolution sets me free...