Electricity hums and sizzles through his veins, pumping through his mortal heart like the quickest of poisons. A growl of thunder hearkens the arrival of the monstrous black stallion, snarling red bitch hot on pale heels. He is roiling with anger, every monstrous step like earthquakes as hooves meet soil - swift silver eyes judge him closely as he babbles uselessly, much like the pale mare before him. They have much more in common than he cares to admit. The Dauntless is cumbersome and lumbering, no doubt slow to move and clumsy, but his strength far surpasses the nimble appaloosa; one false move, one uncertainty, and Jackal would surely become crow fodder, strewn out beneath the wide grey sky like some testament against the audacity of youthful ideals.
Poor David is overcome with Goliath's shadow as he pulls closer, darkness in those queer wolf eyes of his. Every muscle in his dusty body tenses with the prospect of battle, and he feels it sing in his blood, as if every moment of his life led to this, and his soul wasn't so tattered and broken and he didn't feel so raw. His parents were great warriors, and Jackal only hopes the trait is hereditary. The red dun inhales, sharp and brisk, lungs swelling to harbor clammy storm-air. Archibald moves ever forward, menace etched in every harsh line of his body, as if the artist was angry and choleric, and the only colors he saw in this scene were grey, black and red. Jackal stands tensely, striped hooves digging into the grass, auburn tail slapping his haunch once idly with the sound of an angry whip. High above, a bronze dragon keens, ready to aid his friend with talons and fire and dagger-fangs that glisten with slaver. Vaguely, Jackal wonders if Archibald can fight as well as he can sit on his ass, or whatever else he does in private.
Suddenly, Archibald surges forward, dark lips drawn back to reveal a grin of ugly teeth. When they threaten to pull the skin of his naked right shoulder, the King of Thieves reels frantically backward, weight absorbed deftly onto his rump and rusty ears slick against his poll. Wincing as he feels blunt teeth graze lightly against the skin of his shoulder, Jackal narrowly avoids the Dauntless' bulk crashing against his own with a minute swerve to the left; he takes advantage of the Shire's savage advancing momentum to slip forward gently, brushing past the black with the suavest of touches. The Shire's right flank is exposed with his thrust forward, catching the listless light in rippling bandeaus of dull blacks and drab greys. It's a shame he isn't as pretty as me, the King of Thieves chortles as he reveals his own toothy smile, dry with the prospect of tasting fur and skin and blood and dirt. He strains upward in an effort to grapple the Shire's meaty, sensitive hip and send this trackless train of a man staggering. Painfully aware that his own buttocks are exposed, the appaloosa leans his weight promptly into his forehand, sending striped fore hooves into the sod and letting his heels free of weight, ready to strike backward at Archibald's leering white face, should he turn and strike at the pretty spotted rump.
The ground vibrates and thrums excitedly with their dance, tall blades of grass caressing the underside of his belly like the palms of long lost lovers. Churning with turbulent clouds, the sky purrs with thunder and threatens rain. Fingers of lightning illuminate the darkness, casting a momentary halo around the waltzing stallions.
The skies will cry tonight.
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617 words
As Archibald thrusts forward, Jackal falls back on his haunches. Archi's teeth barely graze his right shoulder (you didn't specify a side, so I just picked one) as Jackal narrowly avoids being trampled by veering to Archi's right, and brushing past his charging bulk. He aims to bite Archibald's right hip, heels at the ready if Archibald chooses to turn around and bite his rump.
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david and goliath, archibald challenge
