A brief flicker of victory passes through silver eyes, like the bolts of light that shine so brightly as they wheel and dance around each other. It is not only the deft fingers of lightning that illuminates the darkness, but something much hotter, much more lethal - the sheer brightness of Dei's tyrannical flames cause Jackal to squint, as the black Shire slips from the battery of his blunt hooves to a safer place. Rain hisses and sizzles as they evaporate, and the dun feels pride swell in his chest for his friend, swimming through his veins like a virus and infecting his body with mirth and fervor. For a moment, the Dauntless seems to escaping into the swarthy distance, rendered a coward by the hot kiss of dragon fire. The boy and his dragon hesitate, eyes turned toward the direction of the stallion's exit, with all the attentiveness of an expectant mother. He is elated and soaked to the bone for the better part of a moment, a grin of triumph sliding onto his face by the fingers of victory; Jackal half-hopes for Goliath to dissolve into the drenched atmosphere, like a vampire wreathed with garlic, or a witch bathed in water.
The conquest is short-lived.
He comes back, a murky, scathing demon, jaw wide to throttle the dun's throat in an whore's wet embrace. Instinctively, the handsome rusty head snaps downward to protect the delicate throat. For a moment, they leer at each other, yellow on silver, like the filthy union of piss and argent. Delicate nostrils, distended with exertion, smell sweat cleansed by rain, spittle, and the sourness of his opponent's breath.
For a fraction of a moment, the Shire's incisors manage to fasten upon his soft nose, and Jackal is locked with the Dauntless, breath denied to him by the giant's lethal grasp. However, the rain makes his lean face slippery, so it is with little effort that he slides himself from the grip of the behemoth's foul mouth, and he is breathless with the promise of asphyxiation. Regaining his composure, Jackal snorts rain and spit and snot from his newly aching nose, stony eyes transfixed on the right side of Archibald's muscular neck, licked passionately by dragon fire. With all the quickness of his lineage, the appaloosa abruptly plunges himself once more into the rain, squinting as the water tumbles into his sight. Hooves impale the muddy ground furiously, welcomed by the treacherous mire which smears his fleet limbs with cold brown muck. Cold sinks into his damaged left shoulder, which cries in complaint and hinders him with pain.
It is a good thing their bond is silent; the red dog's magic draws years from the dragon's mind, reducing him to a mere hatchling. The bitch is foolish, though, for the bond between bronze and boy are stronger than she would ever know; Jackal had been the first thing Dei had seen upon crawling from the safety of his egg, and their bond was instantaneous and stalwart.
Dei is wet and cold, a mere babe drenched in rain; he needs warmth to wash the discomfort away, and the only comfort he knows is Jackal. Forgetting the purpose of hovering beneath the shrouded sky, the dragon zips quickly toward his bonded, flight clumsy and laboured underneath the heavy raindrops. The hatchling is surprised when he finds his bonded wrestling with another, their movements vicious and cruel. He feels the need to hurt the assailant, although when he reaches out to the appaloosa, he finds nothing but silence. Discouraged, the bronze resorts to wheel nervously around the combating duo, confused and dejected by his bonded's hush.
Jackal risks a glance toward Dei, rain thrumming mercilessly into his pale eyes. The dragon is circling above them nervously, his flight odd and seemingly unpracticed. Shaking the unease which blooms vaguely in his mind, he continues toward his foe.
Lips of fine velvet clefted to divulge an array of vindictive teeth, the King of Thieves extends his neck forward, ears humming and thrumming with whirling blood and boisterous torrents of rain. He wants to take the awful burn between his teeth and wrench it, like a wolf coercing marrow from bone. It will hurt like hell, he knows, perhaps more than anything the monster has ever felt. Encouraged by the thought, and driven by the sudden, sadistic urge to cause affliction, he wants to clamp down as hard as his blunt horse's teeth allow; the cowardly boy is dead, the man knows, and in his wake is a callous iron dagger.
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Jackal snaps his head downward to protect his throat, and Archibald's teeth find his tender nose instead. As it is slippery and wet, he manages to wriggle out of Archibald's grasp and lunge toward the right side of his neck, where he aims to grab a piece of burnt skin and twist it between his teeth. Meanwhile, Dei's mental state is reduced to that of a hatchling by Loretta's magic, and he wheels around confusedly above them.
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david and goliath, archibald challenge
