For a moment the only thing to answer his cry was a breath of wind singing through the green grass, but Roland looked on expectantly as he searched the horizon. His heartbeat had increased in anticipation, every nerve charged as if he had been touched by a finger of electricity. With no opponent to stand before him he exuded confidence, determination shining in his eyes with the intensity of his sun lit, golden pelt. Blue gaze settled on the approaching shape of a black horse, and Roland turned to face the nearing shape with a faint smile. It had been a long time since he’d last fought, but it was a perfect day to try his hand at it once again.

Roland’s smile faltered as the stallion halted before him, giving the former a proper chance to study his opponent. The draft towered above him, heavy set with large hooves and thick white feathering from his knees down. A sense of bewilderment passed over the dun, jaw clenching nervously as he sized up the colossal equine. Though his confidence had suddenly been replaced by regret, he wasn’t about to back down and make a fool of himself. Regardless of whether he would regret it or not, he would stubbornly see this spar to the end, and make a note to pick his opponents before challenging them. The draft obviously out-brawned Roland; the stallion could only hope he would be able to out-brain him, as that may be one of the few advantages he had in this fight.

Roland swung his haunches around as he came face to face with his adversary, inhaling deep breaths of the thin air in an attempt to calm his nerves. Any hint of uneasiness is well disguised on his features, and he manages a nod of acknowledgement as the stallion volunteered himself to fight. He didn’t return a greeting for fear his voice would quiver and divulge the agitation seething beneath his confident façade. As there are no more words needing to be exchanged, Roland makes the first move.

It had been many months since he’d last sparred or engaged in any kind of physical battle, and it took him a moment to cast his mind back into his past and recall the tactics he had once used. He would be able to use his smaller size to his advantage, but throwing his weight against the draft was likely to do little in his favour. Settling his weight onto his haunches, Roland filled his lungs with precious air and launched himself forwards, approaching Archibald head on. The dirt ground provided a good footing, and there were no obstacles that threatened to trip him or slow his gait.

Closing the distance between them, the unicorn feigned to the left and then suddenly changed direction, leaping to the right and aiming for his opponent’s left side. He darted forwards, reaching out to try and land a bite on the sensitive flesh of Archi’s stomach just behind the elbow. As he turned away, pivoting on his front hooves, he aimed a kick at the underside of the draft’s barrel in hopes of winding him at least slightly. Dancing out of harm’s way, he spun on his heels and looked back at his adversary, shaking away the tendrils of forelock that obscured his view.

(Summary: Roland runs toward Archi head on, feigning left and then jumping to the right to try to land a bite on Archi's stomach just behind the elbow. He pivots on his front feet so his rear is facing Archi's side, aims a kick for his barrel and then moves out of range.

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