Яikyn

It’s her turn to laugh at me, which is fair of course, but it doesn’t mean it doesn’t sting, and make the egotistical fuck inside of me rear up his ugly head. Probably won’t do much to help fix her opinion of me as being just what I am, either, as I scowl, and an added drive suddenly lfuels my step, despite the flow of blood easing from my lacerated shoulder.

Bitch. I’m the only one who can belittle people around here and get away with it. Who does she think she is?

The sun is starting to get borderline hot on my back, the sweat pooling in the soft folds of my body beginning to drip and run, splattering with my more forceful steps; the sway of my mane against my shoulder is a pleasant thing to focus on, instead of the severed muscles in my right shoulder crying out for me to stop, still oozing red blood to the grasses below. Ignoring their piteous cries as best as I can, and instead focusing on the satisfaction of my horn making impact with her flesh, I pull away from the landed blow on the mare’s side, not caring that the other had hit and leaves a mark in her armor, because at least one of my strikes had gone well.

Something to remember me by! I think of the gouge in her leather protection, amusedly. Duir, of course, finds it all much less amusing, considering the situation, and retaliates to my jovial jest with a mental image of the blood slaking my shoulder and neck with a shake of his ivy laden, antlered head.

No time for jokes, he bemoans, and I guess he’s right. I just don’t know why he’s always got to be such a kill sport.

I don’t have time to pull away before her retaliation lands home, too slowed up by the pain that the wound her horns have left causes me, though I try to stumble back and out of her range. With a gasp as her hooves impact my armor with a jolt, the reverberation of the metal on my skin is fucking weird, and doesn’t block all of the force of her punch. What is this woman? Half moose? I think, back-peddling again to realign our figures, and gladder for my rune-marked armor than I’ve ever been.

Yep, half moose, I regretfully conclude as the gray mare surges towards me suddenly and we collide, the bronze is still ringing against my bruised shoulder when I’m forced to quickly present it to her again. Grunting as she slams into me, I try and stand my ground, but my hooves gouge rifts in the earth, the sod building behind my tasseled ankles as she pushes me back several feet despite my attempts to be immovable.

If the bruise was only small, what blooms around the edges of the armor now, especially, is pretty ridiculously painful, and immediately tries to cramp up. Wincing and pulling the leg up instinctually, I force it back down, and grit my teeth with a pained groan when it sends violent complaints through all my nerve endings.

Deciding fuck it, and that I had little choice in tactic at this point, I simply push back into her as the momentum of her charge subsides, lifting up ever so slightly to hopefully lift my chest over the rise of her shoulder while pressing forward, fore-hooves driving out between us with several weak, bludgeoning blows, slowed by pain. Knowing I’ll need a bit of height to compensate for the difference in our mass, if I want to deliver anything at all like a useful strike against her, I take the risk that she gets my exposed chest for the chance to possibly put her out of the fight (or at least make her hurt half as much as I will tomorrow).

Mostly a ruse, the real intention of the partial rear, kicks, and forward lunge arrives in a fluid motion as my body begins its natural descent. My muzzle, tucked down towards my neck to protect my throat from her menagerie of face-knives, allows the tip of my horn to be strategically placed as I return my front legs to the ground, and with a gouging, downward strike, I aim to pierce her on the back, or right side of her neck, or shoulder.

No matter the outcome, I hopefully pull down her right flank as soon as I can get a move on, not wanting to hang out within her ramming zone any longer than I need to. Though my left shoulder hurts like hell, I’d rather her get another lick in on top of those bruises than layered on top of the weeping flaps she’s made of my right side.

3/3 | 800 words
Her kick hits him on the shoulder plate, as does her ram. His left shoulder is now very bruised and has slowed his speed and agility. He retaliates with a quarter rear, kicks out at her several times, and tries to pierce her upper shoulder/back area, before trying to pull down her right flank.

there's no place to hide down here