for there are many ways to kill a man they say

Clang! the sound of hooves against bronze is both pleasing and infuriating, an immediate chiding running through her brain. How could she miss her target?! But then her shoulder starts to cramp up and oh, yes, that’s how. Her forelegs must have drooped lower than she’d realized, the effort of continuous use and pain causing the muscle fibers to forcefully tell Wessex to fucking stop already. Pushing to move towards instinct rather than calculated attacks, trying to turn her brain off and let her body (damaged as it is) switch into automatic mode, Wessex is stuck in this half-on, half-off place. It makes her do things like go half-moose and try to bowl Rikyn over (no skill needed there, save to keep herself square and on-balance).

The tank hasn’t a clue where she’s trying to push the Thief, only that it bides her time. She needs to recalibrate, and quickly, for there is much to gain from winning this fight, perhaps far more than Rikyn has to lose. But the ebb and flow of jubilant success and dismal failure is a hard tide to ride, as each seems to occur within seconds of each other; the Thief moves as she exerts force, and then is able to stop her and push back. It’s obnoxious. She wants to shoulder check him, hard again, make him fall down and stay down. Her shoulder, however, protests too much and Wessex isn’t able to meet Rikyn’s rear appropriately. His hooves thud dully into the left side of her chest, striking hard leather instead of skin but she still feels them. Light bruises will blossom there later, but for now, she takes what he freely offers her - an exposed chest. Instinct tells her that’s an opening.

By her own sense of honor, his throat is off limits; he need not protect himself like that, she’s not some utterly vindictive bitch. It grates on her nerves, and rather than wanting to show him her power, this time she just wants to hurt Rikyn for that assumption. If he thinks she would do that, she might as well try, right? Aaaugghghggh, no - she can’t. Instead, Wessex decides to utilize a rarely used part of her arsenal- the horn at the tip of her nose. It is as sharp as the rest of her accoutrements, but using it risks damage to her head and neck. Nevertheless, it is the only option she seems to have if she wants to keep him relatively close.

Wessex snakes her head down and extends her nose to his descending body, letting gravity do most of the work for her. With any luck, she can pull her head up while the stallion falls down, and her nasal horn will rip through the flesh on the left side of his chest, from about the point of shoulder area and upward, staying left of center to avoid any major veins or arteries as well as his tucked nose. He should probably look out for her head spikes too, as they might be perilously close to his head. Rikyn is lucky she doesn’t choose to try for somewhere further down the length of his body, because that would have his horn simply sticking into her armor. No, instead his blade slices down the surface of her own neck, drawing a long, slender gash from cheek height down to where the neck meets the chest. She squeals and jerks her head away, body following to the left.

Even through the haze of the viciously stinging surprise and panting breaths, she can feel him brushing down the right side of her body, waits for a moment, and then pivots a bit more to her left while lashing out with her hind legs towards the back of his retreating thighs. It is lower than she wants to, as white hot pain tears from her shoulder down to her knee, lessening the force and height she might usually get - well, that’s ok, she’s not aiming for anything but his ass, as she (sort-of) promised she would. They aren’t horns, but a swift, smarting kick might just be embarrassing enough. Hell, even hitting his hocks or gaskin when if both fully extend (Wessex in her buck, and Rikyn if he fully extends his legs to move away from her) would be satisfying.

Satisfying is the second best thing that could happen. While losing would be so bad she doesn’t even care to think about that possibility at the moment, the sting could be lessened knowing that she beat up on Rikyn till he was black and blue and bloody.

I am Iron and I Forge Myself