Einarr was the Warden, the dealer of justice and punishment.

Today, Einarr would give this bitch what she deserved.

Death. Death would be her demise, her end.

Never before in the ebony stallion's life had he been so full of fury, of white hot rage that rippled across his breast and throbbed down his back and beckoned for revenge. Surely, he had been angry. He had been offended. He had been prideful and lashed out because of it. Nothing, however, was compared to the thrumming, the drumming, the pounding of pure, unfiltered vehemence that leaked from his pours at this moment. He was so wholly consumed by the desire to destroy and to devour. His muscles shook beneath his slick pelt, skin bubbling where the acid had been so unfortunate to lick, and he pressed onwards toward his goal.

Histe fell in the mud from his charge and quickly, the stallion flapped his wings down and backpedaled, trying to create a distance between them and avoid her teeth from clipping his flesh. His mind still churned, moved, gears clicking and whirring in a machine-like fashion to discover the best course of action. As the brindle struggled to her hooves, Einarr spun around and tucked his wings into his sides. He felt a burst of pain as the bitch bit down on the right side of his buttock and simultaneously raked a hoof over his gaskin. Talking in a sharp breath, Einarr reacted. Like lightning, his cloven hind hooves left the ground. His muscled, thick haunches propelled them powerfully in an attempt to crack into Histe. He hoped to smack her in her head, to dislodge her jaw and break bone. When he felt his hooves return to the loamy, acidic soil Einarr moved forward, legs rocketing in an attempt to create distance between him and the mare. His hind right let sputtered some, the pain stinging and radiating up into his spine. Einarr snorted, turning to the left to lead with his good side.

The pain that the acid rain caused made his entire body throb, and the stinging that reminded him of his new wound--bleeding from where her hoof had managed to clip just before his hock--sent a new wave of anger trembled and crashing over him. Wings snapped open and surged down powerfully, and the stallion lifted into the air. Low still, he attempted to charge mid-air back towards Histe, front hooves crashing downward. His ears were pinned and his eyes were narrowed, hoping his assault would bash the female's head and neck.


[WC: 442 | PC: 2/3] @[Histe]