The little fellow seems slightly shaken by his fall, and the fragment of honour that exists inside Volterra bids him to stand his ground and not attack Pippigrin whilst he recovers. The warlord snatches his breath during the short interlude, taking the opportunity to ensure that his posture upon the sand is perfect and that his balance is optimum for what remains of the fight. His coat gleams with sweat, emphasising each rippling muscle, but his lack of any great movement means that he's not as exhausted from the heat as he'd expected. His left side throbs from Pip's first attack, and he knows that if he'd moved much more, the wound could truly have troubled him. As it is, it simply pulses a painful rhythm against his skin, reminding him that a small opponent does not necessarily denote a weak one.

He keeps his gaze warily on the miniscule warrior as Pippigrin prepares for his final attack. Volterra half expects the younger stallion to ignore his advice and attack from the air once again, so he's pleased when the pegasus instead remains firmly grounded. This pleasure is set to be shortlived, though, because suddenly the pony unleashes a battle-scream and darts beneath Volterra's underbelly.

Immediately the warlord's eyes widen in alarm. What hangs beneath there is precious beyond words, both the great sheathed length of his manhood and the heavy, swinging sack that accompanies it. Without one, the other would be essentially useless - the thought of being gelded is one that haunts the Indomitable's darkest nightmares. Between the sweaty bulk of his thighs is what makes him him; a stallion, a father, a conqueror of the battlefield and of many a mare's womb. He's heard tales of men who have been cut, and suspects he's met one in the shape of the palomino vampire he defeated a few months back; without the testosterone flooding through them, their muscles do not erupt to their fullest extent, their bodies stunted and weak in comparison to their entire brethren. What point is there to life for these poor half-men? How can they possibly exist day to day, seeing mares yet feeling no desire to monopolise or mount them? How do they cope when they don't have the competitive drive to take, crush and dominate?

Volterra cannot contemplate the idea of losing something so precious. That's why he'd been so wary about fighting somebody as small as Pippigrin, and why his very first thought upon meeting the tiny man was that he would be capable of accessing those valuable areas. Try to attack in a way I'm not expecting, he'd said. This, he supposes, is the miniscule warrior doing precisely what his teacher had instructed him to do....although at this exact moment, Volterra wishes Pippigrin had ignored him again.

He has to act fast. His neck is craned around, watching Pippigrin disappear beneath him, aiming for there. With a savage grunt, Volterra launches himself to the right; he's acting on instinct alone, not caring what part of him gets damaged as long as it's not his balls. As a result, Pip's teeth sink into his left thigh instead, mercifully missing the large, swinging pendulums that he'd been aiming for. The bite wound is excrutiating, with the pony's blunt teeth immediately creating a small but deep bruise on the tender area. It sets Volterra's jaws on edge to think about how much more painful the attack woud have been had it hit its intended target.

Last time somebody aimed for his knackers in battle, Volterra had broken their ribs in furious retaliation. He can't deny the frisson of anger that ripples through him, making him want to crush Pippigrin down like a bug as pennance for what he'd tried to do - yet the warlord cannot deny that it was a unique and well-worked attack, so he feels like he cannot scold the pony for it. "Not quite what I had in mind," he growls through gritted teeth. "But I will admit that it was effective." Mercifully not as effective as intended! "Now, watch my movements and try to avoid my attack. Take note of the movemets of my muscles, as they can give away my intentions."

With another feral war-rumble, Volterra spins on his forequarters to try and bring his rump facing Pippigrin. Throwing his weight to his forelegs - and thanking his lucky stars that his side wound doesn't prevent this - the titan kicks his back hooves out towards his opponent. He doesn't put a great deal of force into his attack, not wanting to break Pippigrin in two as he could if he put his full, formidable strength into it, but he attempts to cause a very painful bruise on any part of the smaller man that he can reach.

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Spar for @Pippigrin !

Omfg pip LMAO xD Thanks for the fight Neverr!

3/3 - 797 words