It's like slow motion. I can see his wings jut from his flanks and his muscles coil - the tell tale signs are all there. He is taking to the air, but I am powerless to stop. My shoulder flings into empty space, and I feel the ligaments and muscles strain. Pain radiates outwards, and I feel myself stumble. I had expected to hit a wall, for Einarr's body was only just short of sheer concrete I'm sure. I had expected him to hold me up, in this spar as in life, and without him I am tumbling forward. A colt lacking direction, a prince without a king, a boy without a father.
A sound of pain warbles from my lips as my left front leg finally finds purchase. My muscles painfully scream their criticisms, like pawns on a chess board who have been carelessly sacrificed. It doesn't hurt much, but then again I am a novice when it comes to pain. It isn't quite the same as the emotional duress I have felt all of my life, but it is just as blinding. Perhaps I am a child still, for everything feels like a big deal to me.
But this is a big deal, isn't it? I have already let Einarr down. He doesn't even humour me by taking the hit. His evasion shows just how completely misguided my attack really was.
I almost didn't want to look up into the air to track his movements. Instead, my mind was trying to figure out a way of escaping this mad attempt at proving myself. Could I tell him my shoulder hurt more than it did? I really should rest it, don't you think? I'll be good tomorrow. Definitely tomorrow... Or perhaps instead of showing weakness, I could show forgetfulness? Oh I've just remembered, Mother needs help collecting herbs ... so silly of me to forget ... I suppose we'll have to postpone! Darn! Before I have the chance to figure out a decent lie, Einarr removes the possibility all together.
Having cast my eyes upwards, I now see him hurtling towards me, hooves outstretched. My panic outweighs the embarrassment that I know will inevitably follow as I scramble forwards and to the right. I am quick on these sands, having grown up on them, and I just manage to ghost under Einarr's hooves. Shame floods me with a freezing hold as I spin around. I watch Einarr's battle landing. His teeth reach out to snap at air, as his bulky body leans in towards nothing. For a moment I wonder what he's doing, until he speaks.
...Ground combat we become slow....
Now I understand. He's mocking me. His body thrust itself into an empty space the way mine recently had. Was he trying to prove how incredibly foolish I looked? Or how his body was somehow trained to not turn on itself should an attack miss? Anger swamps the shame I was previously feeling, and I turn my thoughts away from whatever motives Einarr might have had.
I just wanted a little help. Some guidance. Perhaps foolishly I expected to come out of this feeling better about myself, not worse.
I try to steel myself against my wounded pride, and focus on the task before me. I wish I had magic like Father did, as Einarr proved himself to both be a ghost as well as a brick wall. He was stronger and larger, and although I had thought my speed would have been superior, so far it had only succeeded in helping me run away.
I didn't have the upper hand against Einarr.
I didn't have anything.
Gritting my teeth, I suddenly ran forward. I didn't have a plan really, it was my childish instincts taking over. When we were younger, Ivezho and I used to play a game of leap frog, where we would run and jump over each other, and use our wings to aid with the height.
Einarr did say we were better in the air.
I let my embered wings fall slightly from my flanks and extend. When I was a stride or so out, I pushed down with my feathers, and jumped upwards, as I tried to jump/fly over Einarr. I had try to come at his side, but I was fairly certain he would move anyways. My hind legs trailed slightly, and then kicked outwards to try and strike at any part I might be in reach of.
WC: 743
Attack: 2/3
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they knew it was rough, but tough luck [rhoa spar]
