How unfortunate.

As she makes to turn Toulouse is – once more – farther out beyond her grasp. Iron does not waft easily into the air, but her successful tactic strikes the stallion’s mint eyes instead. Eyes that swell with cooler shades of emerald return her wanting gaze, glinting dangerously in the high light.  

The mare holds back a lofty grin from her lips – the fight has just begun.

She will not jinx the lucky catch of flesh, which stains the pristine shoulders of her opponent. Adding, what she assumes, to be a healthy dose of colour to keep the sleuth up and on his toes.

He has yet to surprise her, but she is on guard.

Ru takes her cue to charge after him the moment they exchange glances. The beating of her heart throbs on the surfaces of her forelegs, cantering ahead to clash as beasts do. She is not one to idle. The feathered lark was curious after all, just how alike their bodies were, and how long they could sustain themselves amidst the soaked earth and ferocious blows. Bodies meant for greater distances, elevating their souls to carry them – ever onwards.

But does he not move?

The distant roar of crashing waves sends a cautionary warning. The moisture, the subtle winds that drift off from the cliff edge send a reverberating chill.

Ru eyes her target as the distance closes, her momentum steadying. She narrows her gaze as she realizes he has gone stiff, muscles rigid, as he stood petrified for a few precious seconds. Is he acting? She wonders, huffing through her nostrils.

Perhaps she expected no less from a sleuth.

The woman is nearly upon him when the stallion cracks a grin, her gaze – inevitably, follows with an increasing frown that etches against her face. The effect is immediate. Her world blurs for a second, as fine needles dig into her head. Sending a haphazard bolt of a nearly seizing, electrifying sensation through her neck and down to her hooves. Her mouth cried out in a ragged shrill.

Fuck!

She tears her eyes away from the vulture, shutting them close and halting her body with the use of her hindlegs. Sending the feathered mare a short distance, sliding across the loose threshold of the earth, and carelessly uprooting the virgin grasses. She grappled with the sensation that plagued her head that began to dull – though which had made it hard for the mare to see through the initial heat of torture. As if it seared through her ears emitting a horrid pitch too high, and exploded into a thousand points of white light.

Blind!

She gasps, and turns left, swinging her rump around to face the heathen in an attempt to protect herself. Imagining that he too, would not idle with his advantage.

Ru forces her eyes to open, her neck cranes back with a feral leer. It’s at this point that she can make out his form. Feel, the shallow skin tears that unravel like loose ribbon, as his head rams gilded horns along the back of her left hindquarters. Her ears flatten as she makes to buck at his chest or throat, hopefully – quick enough that it might land a severe hit.

When her hind hooves hit the ground, she continues to turn to her left to face him. Lifting her left wing to swing out with her simultaneously – attempting to strike out with the wrists of her feathered arms at his eyes.  

Regardless if the flurry of feathers had disorientated him or not – or even landed their target, the mare lunges towards his figure. Eager to inhale the fresh, pungent metal that infects the air. Snapping her teeth to purchase the left side of the smooth, arching muscles that lend to Toulouse’s proud head.

Perhaps her initial efforts were in vain; the pain – it becomes an aphrodisiac that appears to goad the mare. To press in, hungry for contact despite the circumstances. Disregarding the snake for his scales, in the hopes of enticing him instead.  

Where are these fangs you keep hidden in that pretty mouth?

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