Яikyn

Our bodies press together in the dance, a fire exploding in places fires shouldn’t be while fighting (but my veins are alive with testosterone, the added lure of her scent pervasive). This kisses of her teeth ache, the memory of her magic throbbing, a tight pulse in my head that throbs in rhythm with my heart. The world still reeks of blood, my blood, and the water becomes pink beneath our restless hooves.

I hadn’t expected the buck to strike true, compensating for the lost speed by telling my hooves its time to accelerate, hard. She’s there, so close, suddenly closer as her black body streams across the rippling pool beneath our hooves to try and meet with me in a collision of figures. I deny her embrace, gracefully (I think so, anyway) stepping to the right and out of her reach, the droplets of water torn free from the main body below dazzling as the sunlight strikes them, twisting and mingling with the blood that flows from her cut, from my face. The svelte curvature of her body breezes by me by half an inch, and her smell tangles in my nostrils (I’m almost instantly no longer frustrated with her), the perfume of her mingling with the harsh, metallic odor of my blood in the most oddly delightful way; perhaps she is distracted by my own cologne and rippling sinew, too, as her secondary magic, icy weapons drawn from the water below, fails to even scratch me.

The shards whistle as they pierce the cold air, a bark of laughter freed in delight of being so lucky. No sooner am I clear of the pain of ice blades than I strike at her with a swift jab of my right hind hoof, hoping to hit her low in her left side, perhaps even on her hind leg. The water splashes as the hoof breaks the surface, follows my figure in a wave as I leap forward, using the momentum of the lunge to push me around counterclockwise. I hope to have wound up at an obtuse angle, an awkward T, so that her rump or ribs are closest to the strike, having learned first hand of the frailty of bones recently, eager to avenge my blood, staining the water below. I send my both hind hooves kicking out behind me savagely, all the force of a boulder rushing down a mountain face applied to the situation (in my mind’s eye, anyway). I hope to hit her with a glancing blow in the side, or the ass, or anywhere, really, because that sort of buck surely sucks to receive - maybe even enough to slow her down, to pull far enough away to use my magic on her, or her dragon.

To show them true power, not silly ice blades or horrible blood magic.


[ 3/3 :: 474 Words ]
[ OOC: Thank you for the wonderful spar Wanda <3 ]

in every heart a hole