Powder flew and fell as the stallion danced back and forth, parrying and thrusting against his imaginary opponent. Long legs carried him with coiled tension, swaying and bounding as if springs latched themselves to his cloven hooves. Flickers of steam wasped from his coat from strain, golden eyes fixed determinedly upon that blank space of his false foe's eyes. Orange horn twisted and jerked, blocking blow after blow and returning the barrage. He did not rear, did not lunge to clash bodies as was all too common amongst their kind when they fought. No, he moved with the predatory grace of a swordsman, and each blow blocked was return with a strike as swift as a serpent.

Finally the tip of his horn found his false enemy's throat, resting against imaginary skin to claim victory. The exertion had felt delightful, his muscles burning with a pleasant sort of ache. After nearly a moon spent within the recesses of his cave, allowing the sickness to work it's wrath upon him and weaken his vessel, he emerged and now sought to build his strength once more. A shake of his head set his short mane in order as he turned to gaze out at the valley, catching his breath before he would depart to cool down. This mild winter did wonders; with the ice all but non-existent, and the cold kept away by his thick winter coat, his sickness had been the shortest yet, and even after such a short time free of it, his lungs lacked the crippling shortness that was often an issue when the snow and ice came and bit through all but stone. Carnassial turned, feeling strength in his limbs that delighted and thrilled him, made him wish to kick his heels and take off across the snow with wild abandon. Oh but the tiger-king possessed far too much dignity for that, sadly, thus he merely stood and allowed the winter air to cool and soothe worked muscles.

Eyes turned to the snow, then to the flurries picked up by the wind as he pondered his next move with the same solemn regard as if he was deciding the life or death of another. Then the stallion dropped his head and tucked his chin, once again summoning an invisible opponent to fight for life. He slipped into the fluid dance with ease, blocking and deflecting, shifting and twisting, hooves hardly seeming to touch the ground before they carried him away again. It was not a fighting style he would be able to utilize well, not when so many in this forsaken land lacked the elegant horn to riposte his blows, thus they relied on bulk and power over finesse and agility. It was a pitiable thing in this land of barbarians and blasphemers, but soon Carnassial would show them the proper way of battle.

And show them how deadly his beautiful dance truly was.


"Speech."

@Sialia 

C a r n a s s i a l