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02-03-2017, 05:28 AM
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tinker tailor soldier sailor rich man poor man beggar man thief.
A grimace now resided upon the palomino’s face, his bloody eyes searching for a trace of hope among the blood stained ice they battled upon. His jaw agape, perhaps even swinging loose, the gelding had passed right by the last thoughts he had of saving his dignity - for now he damn near fretted for his life.
The indomitable who's footfalls crunched the skeleton-like ice behind him only spurred on his will and need to stay upright upon his marble hooves. The gelding was keeling and soon began to lurch forwards and staggered a pace or two from the iron stallion, an entire blood flood now escaped his body and drenching the slush below. Defeated was he, the Specter of the west, though he would not give in as easily as any other might. Like a tidal wave the next attack had come - a thud upon his rump causing his teeth to grit against an uncontainable cry, and the crawling of hooves upon his already bludgeoned sides. The sheer weight of the onyx warrior was enough to make his hocks buckle, yet the bites that came with it were simply too much to bear. Collapsing under the weight of his opponent, Toulouse let out a gruff, panting sigh of pain and exhaustion. He cared not where the Indomitable ended up so long as he was not trying to hold him up with what little strength he had left. The gelding attempted to turn onto his side and tried to kick the deadweight from off of him should the warrior of fallen onto him. His glassy eyes searched for those of the one who stood victor, the one who had beaten not only his bronze body to a pulp, but any confidence he had left along with it. Toulouse immediately found himself wondering if he really could just give up now. Would one final attempt to scrape back some dignity earn him a fatal blow in return? Most likely. But how would he cope knowing there was a man out there who could vouch for this sort of weakness displayed today? Toulouse would forever refuse to be seen as weak. He had journeyed too far, seen too much and conquered too many demons to be granted such a hideous title. So it was with a great grunt that he aimed his sharp foot, his back right hoof, and attempted to strike it right into the face of his own conquerer. A great gasp escaped his mouth as he did so, striking with most of the might he had left within him before he made an attempt to scramble to his feet - one which caused him an ineffable amount of pain, and also came incredibly close to failure. As he plunged out of the snow, for a moment he felt an overwhelming sense that he simply was not strong enough to pick himself up. Too weak to continue. With the very last of his might the gelding pulled himself to his feet and stood before the gladiator, his legs trembling and eyelids calling for rest. He would not be struck down today, and he announced this by straightening his neck as much was was possible and raised his head high with any pride he had left. The blood dripped, the bruises flourished. Volterra had won the fight, yet no trophy would be stolen from Toulouse; his life and his dignity remained. -------- 3/3 - 570 words. Thank you again! <3 I now know what I need to work on for next time! Well done, you got some super rolls but would have smashed me anyways in the writing HAHA. you and your freakin 50 point difference. |
I AM THE KEY TO THE LOCK IN YOUR HOUSE—
DO NOT CRY OUT OR HIT THE ALARM
YOU KNOW WE'RE FRIEND TIL WE DIE—
EITHER WAY YOU TURN, I'LL BE THERE
OPEN UP YOUR SKULL, I'LL BE THERE
CLIMBING UP THE WALLS
SO LOCK THE KIDS UP SAFE TONIGHT
CLOSE THE EYES IN THE CUPBOARD
DO NOT CRY OUT OR HIT THE ALARM
YOU KNOW WE'RE FRIEND TIL WE DIE—
EITHER WAY YOU TURN, I'LL BE THERE
OPEN UP YOUR SKULL, I'LL BE THERE
CLIMBING UP THE WALLS
SO LOCK THE KIDS UP SAFE TONIGHT
CLOSE THE EYES IN THE CUPBOARD
