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Bacchus had never been a philosopher. He was not a leader. He had no reason to worry about the herd. The only thing a slave must think of is how to carry out their orders in utmost speed, to be quick and steady and submissive, to carry oneself in such a way they slipped unnoticed through the world. Especially in Helovia, where acting as a slave outside of unicorn company, or drawing attention, could be a downfall. If the Throat caught him, for one example, they would not expect him to be part of the Plague, unless he expressed himself as Snö's- but his own selfishness prevented that. To say he was one of the Plague's slaves was to say he was a spy, an informer, and that would cause pain. Pain at the hands of the enemies, no matter how nice they would seem.
Bacchus wasn't lax or lazy either. He, though indeed compact and small, had his advantages in speed and quick movement, broad-chested with his blood, and stamina improved by work under mistress Snö and the traveling of the Plague. Bacchus knew the terrain of the Steppe where this mare may not, living as he had here. At the same time he challenged this black mare, he felt guilt. Blasphemy, it was, daring to fight a unicorn. It went against the fibers of his being, rubbed him the wrong way. And Snö had never told him to fight off intruders. She had said to avoid contact with blood-thirsty, battle-hungry others all too ready to attack. It felt as if a great big spider was scuttling down his back as the blackened mare replied. Her tones were rich, almost seductive, but he only longed for one mare's cold-shouldered company- Snö's. The mare said her name was Aisha. Aaaaa-sha?
Bacchus was started into action by the mare leaping forward, eyes with a warrior's glint in them. Her head lowered, horn ready to shear the muscle of his shoulder. You must remember, of course, that a slave is used to ducking blows of an angry master. Bacchus was just a slave though, and he didn't know much of battle tactics. Once he had, as a wild, hot-headed colt, before being kicked and beaten into submission. After that, his sails were no longer full of wind. The dun was fearful, selfish, pessimistic, always avoiding the next beating. They had considered putting him in with the fighting slaves, but he had proved useful in other ways.
Spurred as he was by his naturally- or unicorn-made- flighty instincts, the small boy twisted to avoid the scrape of the obsidian horn. Fear, the primal instinct ready to consume, was coming quick, drowning him. He was shaking, already, at the prospect of fighting one of his mortal gods, one of the unicorns, even if she, Aisha, were not of the Edge. What am I doing? No, he told himself- You must protect yourself. Protect Lady Snö. The thought process was not exactly that, more the primal combination of fear and loyalty driving home into him much quicker, but so Bacchus would try to fight. There was no point in trying to knock her over, unless he was up on a mountain and her downhill, so as she slipped by, he aimed a one-two mule kick at her fine ebony legs. Almost parallel to her, he twisted his lean body back towards her, fores half-lifting off the ground, white teeth snapping at her haunches. Then he broke away from the sinuous black body, just a couple of feet mind you, and spun on his haunches back to face her. He couldn't recall if his hooves or teeth had made contact, no, he was fighting his mental battle of fear and unease as well.
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WC: 629
Attack: 1/2 | Kicks at her forelegs as she runs by - twists over, half-rear, to nip at her haunches.
i'm a COWARD, a LIAR, and totally, utterly pathetic- I ADMIT IT
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[JUDGE] night and day [aisha]
