Ki'irha

When your time comes to die, be not like those whose hearts are filled with fear of death. Sing your death song, and die like a hero going home.


A chilling laugh burst from her lips. The noise was snide and vicious, mocking, as she heard his clichéd words. The words she threw back at him dripped with venom and pity. "My soul will never be numb. I am a warrior, I am a queen, and I will never be broken." Her ears twisted back and eyes narrowed as ice cascaded down onto his onyx pelt. "I feel bad for you. To be so broken and weakened that you are no longer able to feel," she shook her head mournfully, "that is a terrible fate."

The star girl had known pain. She had known suffering, and heartbreak, and sorrow. But she also knew joy. She had experienced happiness, and love, and the thrill of victory. She would always be thankful for the pains of her defeats and the despair life had placed upon her, because it had forced her to grow and blossom into the hardy wildflower she had become. Emotion wasn't something to run from, it wasn't something to grow callous to. Sometimes she wanted to run, and sometimes she wished to build up armor around her heart, and shield each of her soft spots from the cruelties of the world. But the cobalt girl would not grow jaded, and she refused to allow her nerves to go numb until her last breath escaped her lips.

The starlit girl danced, graceful legs sidestepping on nimble hooves, as she allowed the brute to thunder past her. She wondered if he were like a bull- perhaps she could keep him occupied all afternoon by waving red silk before him, and she herself could find enjoyment in watching the ram-headed stallion barge around stubbornly. Her musings came to a satisfying close as her head twisted and she watched him retreat towards the trees. Cloven toes dug into the Frostfall-hardened dirt as she persued him, ready to complete their game of cat and mouse.

Although they shared similar Andalusian lines, her body was carved from the slate of a warmblood, as well. She was stronger, she was faster, and though he was more agile than she (though she had yet to see evidence to support her assumptions), her other traits allowed her to cut the distance between them quickly. The stallion came to a sudden halt before the trees. An ear flicked and a smile tugged at the corporal's lips - if he had entered the treeline, he would have achieved the upper hand as she struggled to wind through the trunks with matched speed and grace. Instead he presented himself to her, and she was going to seize her opportunity.

Ears twisted on their polls and landed flat against her white curls. Her muscles tensed and braced, strides lengthening as the space closed. She had grown bored of this spar, and was ready to bring it to a close. The girl was a hunter and a predator, ready to finish her game. He had begun to turn, and his eyes were closed (why were they closed?), so the starry wildcat was unable to catch his steely gaze with her own stormy pools, as she lunged into her final attack.

The girl threw herself at him, shoulder and breast prepared to slam into his exposed side. He had enough time to evade, but with his closed eyes, she hoped she still held the element of surprise. Her steep neck sloped and arched, lips pulled back to expose her white teeth, attempting to catch his neck or withers or anywhere, as long as she could catch another taste of his musky hide, let the taste of iron and crimson land on her tongue.

Her hind legs tensed, muscles rippling, as she forced herself into a rear, driving her front knees upwards towards him. As she swung and drove and bit, she wanted to feel the give of muscle beneath her, she wanted to receive her own bruises, she wanted to make him bleed and ache for days after this encounter. He wanted to show her an aged stallion of war, and she would show him what youth and beauty could do on the battlefield. They would not emerge friends from this exchange, but perhaps the latin stallion would leave with some respect for her duties, and view her as more than a pretty face.

Her forehooves returned to solid ground and she stepped back, letting out a single snort through flared nostrils. Soreness was already threatening to settle into her muscles, and a film of sweat slicked her hide. "Have you had enough?" A brow rose and a coy smile lit upon her lips as she looked to catch his eye. She would certainly continue this escapade until her name was carved into his pelt, but she had more important places to be.
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Talk
WC:: 799/800
Attack Post 3/3
Setting:: Blood Falls in the morning. Clear sky, chilly weather. They're by the river in a small clearing surrounded by trees. The river is knee-deep where they are.
Summary:: I wasn't sure which way Nox was facing after he turned, so she is aiming for the exposed side opposite the trees. She avoids him as he charges past, then pursues him to the treeline. She throws her body, mostly her right shoulder and the right side of her chest, trying to slam him with her body. She then reaches and tries to bite his neck or withers or anything she can reach. She then rears up in an attempt to ram her knees into his stomach/ribs/wherever she can.
@Mortuus Nox  ~