As the blue roan approached, seemingly appearing out of the haze of the rain, Gaucho showed no emotion, or even much recognition. He could scent the musty desert on her, despite the rain; a scent that he had forced himself to memorize the second he entered the throat. If these herdlings did not distinguish themselves visually to denote their herd and rank, then he would at least know them by scent. He listened stonily to her words, finding himself confused and uninterested in what she had to say. When she suggested waiting until after the rain, he had written her off as just some mare, and not a true warrior – yet she mentioned that she was a sar-gent, just like that Levi-stallion had. Maybe a sar-gent wasn’t a warrior-rank after all. If it was, she wouldn’t want to wait until after the rain. Thieves, murderers, invaders, traitors – they did not wait for optimal weather. If Gaucho was to be a well-rounded warrior, he must overcome the elements, not bow to their whims.

Grunting, he would consider her motives or title no more. As she flung an insult his way, his eyes appeared to slowly glass over, as if pretending she was no longer there. In a way, this was precisely what he was doing – he was fully giving over to his instincts; turning what small rational functions he had, completely off. Another stallion may have laughed at the mare, but Gaucho accepted each and ever spar earnestly and appreciatively. Regardless of the outcome, he would be glad to have sparred with this mare: either he would win, and perhaps begin the process of advancing in his new herd, as well as exercising his muscles, and if he were to lose, well that would teach him something as well.

As she began a light trot, locking her gaze to his steely blue trance-like stare, he revealed nothing. Even in the seconds before her lithe body moved just past his shoulder, he remained looking straight ahead; like a statue. He was a monstrous target compared to her, standing almost 2 feet higher at the wither - not to mention that his bay body was a stark contrast to the rain. Aryel on the other hand, was petite and slender; her blue roan body almost camouflaging her in the torrent of weather. One watching this scene unfold, might wonder why he stood so still – literally not batting even an eyelash as she moved in for an obvious bite. He was far too large to simply dance away, too stationary to take to the skies, and apparently, too dumb to even move. As she darted forward, Gaucho only moved once her momentum was already such that her course could not be changed. Milliseconds before her teeth bit deep into his flank, he threw his body weight heavily to the left, directly into her open mouth. Although the bulk of his effort was lead with his shoulder, he was large enough that having his flank heaved against her forward momentum ought to have injured her neck or nose, or at least put a kink in her neck.

Gaucho grunted loudly, as his breath was forced from his lungs due to the impact. He felt pain etch through his rib cage, and a stinging sensation on his flank where the skin had been broken. He could not dance as lithely as the fine blue-mare could, and often that meant accepting an injury, if he was to have his opponent close.

As Aryel jumped back to avoid the flashing hooves that she surely expected, in fact turned into her, making them face the same direction. As her weight shifted, a sure sign that she was about to buck, Gaucho lifted his chin high into the air to protect his head and neck from the brunt of her kick. As her hooves began to lift off the ground, Gaucho forced himself up and forward, taking the brunt of her kick squarely to his massive chest; feeling the pain ricochet through his muscles. It was a risk, but instinctively his mind told him it was the best call: bone structure, slender legs, height, mud, his primitive mind thought, calculating the amount of force he believed she could muster given the slippery footing, and weighing it against how much his muscled chest could endure.

As his forelegs were higher than her hind hooves given their positions, Gaucho thrust himself forward, almost looking as though he were trying to mount her. Given the length of their bodies, and the proximity that allowed Aryel’s hooves to hit his chest, instinctively he believed that he should be able to connect his front hooves down onto her spine, or rump. His steely eyes focused down onto Aryel’s back as if in slow motion, just below where her wings fused onto her spine, as his hooves moved down…


[WC: 802. No defense, because I ran out of words :P
Summary: Gaucho stands still until just before Aryel bites him. As she reaches to bite his flank, he throws his weight left hoping to hit her in the face with his body. As she moves away, he doesn’t buck as she expects, but turns to face the same direction as she. Sensing her buck, he rears up and takes the force of her hooves in his chest. As he comes down, he tries to slam his hooves onto her back.
Attack: Slams hooves onto her back.
Defense: Being big? :P
Injuries: Bite to the flank (Open), kick to the chest.