Snorting, Einarr let his body drop back down onto the hard, solid sands. The dark stallion did not pace, did not shuffle his hooves in anticipation. He simply stood, waiting, listening. Red-brown eyes danced across his surroundings. He was only waiting minutes until he saw a flickering shadow dance across the lands. The stallion’s neck arched and his ears pinned down. Cloven hooves then danced across the blood sands, wings stretching out at his sides. Calm, even breaths left his nostrils. Einarr waited for the boy to come closer, the warrior counting down in his head. Finally, Einarr sprung forward. Dark wings thrust down and he cantered a few strides before pulling himself into the air. Powerful down strokes sent his body towards the cloudless blue sky. At his rump he felt the whoosh of the colt sliding to the ground next to where he had been standing. The stallion grit his teeth, wings still beating as he climbed into the air. Dust spilled into the air, forming a small cloud, from where he once stood.

He expected Rhoa to follow him into the air, and he gave a glance down at the young warrior-to-be. The boy turned his body and threw it to where Einarr had once been standing, and the warrior knew that if he had not taken to the air the Prince would have hit him with youthful force. Einarr tucked his legs in and straightened out his neck, quickly sticking his wings in to his side and turning in the air. The warm sun wrapped its fingers around him. Sweat already began to darken his flanks and chest. He was not hindered yet, at the beginning of his fight, for he had grown up in the desert. His body was used to the devouring warmth, the unbridled summer that perpetually gripped the lands, even in the presence of the oasis. Flicking his wings out again, the stallion leveled himself. He glanced at Rhoa once more, watching the boy lash at the memory of Einarr. The black tipped forward and used his wings to pull himself back toward the air. His massive wings devoured the wind, pulling him down with rocketing speed. Einarr moved his own front legs to straighten before him, cloven hooves aimed to hopefully smack against Rhoa’s rump. The boy’s attack, an attack that mimicked Einarr’s attack now, had not been wrong. It was right to attack from the sky, but Rhoa had not thought of where his shadow would end up in Einarr’s vision.

Quickly, the Warden pulled his wings in to his sides, protecting hollow bones and powerful muscles from the destruction of flailing hooves and blunt teeth. Cloven hooves pulled him on the hard-packed ground without slipping; his body angled in an attempt to land on Rhoa’s left. With a snaking neck, Einarr sent his next assault with speed and power. Blunt, herbivorous teeth sought to pinch dark flesh on Rhoa’s left side ribcage. Rolling thick shoulders forward, Einarr used his bigger bulk to press his body in towards the younger stallion, hoping to throw him off his balance. ”Aerial combat where we shine. Ground combat we become slow, practice make it lesser.” Einarr spoke with an even tone as he attempted to body check the smaller, younger stallion. He had called the other stallion here to teach him, after all, and teach him he would. Rhoa was smaller, by just a few inches, but his body had a youthful elegance and speed that Einarr’s lacked. Einarr held the fine tuned, refined but rugged body of a blood rider.

Calculating mind held no emotion as he fought against the boy. He hesitated none, even knowing this boy was a prince, son of his khal. Einarr did not care—he knew Gaucho’s mind. Warriors were all on equal ground, no matter the prestige of their breeding. If anything, the khal’s son should be treated harder than the others, put on a pedestal with higher expectations. Rhoa had large hooves to fill, and Einarr would help him get there.




[WC: 676 | PC: 1/3]