He aims, thrusting his large body forward, ready to maim, impale, wound, and conquer.

—and—nothing—

All too quickly, the large tigress moves, her striped body springing ahead and out of the line of his path. Brown lips twist in anger and a snarl erupts from between bared teeth, ears burying further into the thick mess of his mane as bodies bustle around him, the weight of his antlers seeming to multiply as their sharp points graze nothing but air. Arching his back, the Warlander falters for only a moment in his momentum before diving forward once more, thrusting his muscled neck outward almost blindly. The throbbing of his head leaves him in a haze, teeth seeking recklessly, hungrily for the flesh of the tigress.

Perhaps it is only by chance that he sees her, a tiny body amidst the chaos, too easily lost in their violent throng, or perhaps it is some higher power that encourages his head to arch to the side, just right. Pulling back sharply in hopes of ripping muscles from bone, Rohan’s wild eyes glance upon her just as she hits the ground—just as her slender body crumples, bruised and burned. “Enna—!” And suddenly, unexpectedly, fleetingly, everything else is forgotten.

The frenzied commotion of battle abruptly fades, his heartbeat drowning out their clamor as it leaps and twists, painfully plunging into his stomach as his eyes watch her unmoving figure with an anxiousness and desperation he hadn’t known he was capable of (and he would deny it, how his heart had throbbed far louder than his head, how—for a moment—nothing else seemed to matter but her, and his burning desire to know that everything will be all right). He would only flash a smirk and laugh about it later, masking, even to himself, what his heart had told him in that short, fleeting moment—

—but this is now.

Plunging his body forward and kicking out in a final, half-hearted attempt to wound the striped beast, Rohan weaves through the throng of bodies, his eyes hardly leaving the brown mare. By the time he reaches her, she is not alone, surrounded by three other stallions and a mare, but disregarding the crowd, he rushes to her side, hovering over her fallen frame. “Enna,” her name is nearly a gasp, a plea, a command to usher her back into consciousness (back to him). Lowering his muzzle, the Warlander brushes the curls of her hair from her face, his warm breath billowing out across her features.

Noticing the salve on her wounds, the antlered stallion glances up to the blue mare who stands near, assuming she had been the healer to tend to Enna. “Will she be all right?” The question leaves him in earnest desperation, his eyes squinting against the ache that pulses through his skull, his own pain temporarily overlooked. It is strange, how such a small moment can be so pivotal—whether he allows himself to believe it or not.


notes; TEAM EARTH GOD.
After missing, he turns to bite viciously at the tigress, and then pivots to kick at her before rushing to @Enna
Also @Ciceron @Deimos @Erebos (for very brief mentions)
“Speech.”