| Dragon's Throat Soldier |
| Mare :: Pegasus :: 14.4 :: 4 |
| FennecFyre |
Aryel
I'm through accepting limits / 'cause someone says they're so.
Aryel felt her hooves connect with horseflesh, but by his movement in the periphery of her vision, she knew she had struck his chest, instead of his side. Well, all the better. Maybe getting the wind knocked out of him would elicit a noise from the so-far silent stallion. Gaucho's sudden movement had come down hard on her nose, leaving it smarting painfully in a way that broke her concentration. As far as she could tell, there was no blood trickling out of her nostrils, but the way the rain was coming down it could be bleeding heavily and it was unlikely she would notice.
What she did notice, though, was him rearing up higher, front hooves brandished like hammers that would no doubt inflict severe damage on her back if they were to land. A brief bout of panic fluttered in her chest as she used the milliseconds she had to formulate a plan. She had to protect her backbone from those hooves. She wouldn't have time to turn and rear up to match him (and being so much shorter it wouldn't be very useful), nor could she simply endure the blow. She settled for the most obvious course of action, which was attempting to skitter out from under his descending hooves. Wings tucked tightly over her back to protect it in the event she was too slow, she threw herself straight forward, hooves sliding in the mud. She wasn't able to avoid him altogether, though, and his hooves came sledgehammering down on her rump, temporarily driving her back end down so hard that her right hind knee hit the ground for a few seconds before she was on her feet again. Her rump really hurt now, but it was better than a snapped back. Doesn't this idiot know you're not supposed to kill your sparring partner? she mentally snarled. She said nothing though, instead retaliating with a vicious buck again, this time doubting he would have time to rear up again. She wouldn't mind slamming a hoof into that thick jaw of his, not at all. Or even his neck. If he wanted to fight dirty, she would show him how nasty she could be. When her hooves returned to the ground, she backed up several more paces and turned to face her opponent, sides heaving. Think, Aryel, think. What did she have that he didn't? What could she use against him? A wistful look was cast up at the churning sky, and she wished she could take the fight to the air, where her agility could come into play. But it would be suicidal to fly in a storm like this, especially if lightning began to strike. Not wishing to let the stallion catch her by surprise, she looked back at him, trying to fight down her worry and size him up. He was bigger. He was probably stronger. But he was also heavier. If the mud was impeding her movement, imagine how it was sucking at his hooves. Maybe she could outmaneuver him. He didn't seem very bright, either. If she could keep her head, maybe she could outwit him as well. A classic battle of brawn versus brain. More than a little cliche, really.
Hoping to tempt him into a charge, she pawed the ground with one hoof. "That all you got, Urgh?" she taunted, shaking droplets out of her mane. "I've seen old nags fiercer than you. If you're going to be a Throat horse, we expect a little more than that." She wasn't entirely sure how enraging him would help, but maybe she could get him to do something rash that would give her the upper hand.
Attack: Bucks upwards towards his face or neck once his hooves hit the ground again, then taunts him.
Defense: Manages to pull her back out from under him and takes the blow on her rump, dances back several paces
Injuries: Pain in the nose and bruising on the top of her rump.
Words: 614
"Speaking her mind." Rare moments of thought. Taking action.
Some things I cannot change / but until I try I'll never know.
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Thanks for the good times, and no hard feelings for the bad times.
Vicer and Aryel's new threads never happened.
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Rain, rain go away. | Practise Spar, Aryel
