There was a moment of peace, a brief second of silence before Apollo felt his horn make connection, the pointed tip puncturing THAROS’ shoulder and ripping through flesh and skin. The ice-blue color of the crystal upon his head became stained and marred with blood, red specks dripping onto the overo’s white blaze. When THAROS finally fell, seeming to succumb to the barrage of attacks he had experienced, Apollo took a step back and shook his head, gritting his teeth as the pulled muscles in his neck gave a painful tug of protest. Oh, he would be sore for quite some time…

Apollo admired the Foothills stallion for a moment before looking away with a disgusted snort. Was he bothered by them trying to defend their home? No, he wasn’t. It was an honorably thing to do, there wasn’t a question about it, but didn’t they see that this was a pointless battle? Their leader had abandoned them, left them to die… It would have been better for each and every one of the Foothills members if they had just accepted their defeat and had surrendered. At the mention of a leader, the black and white unicorn’s ears twitched when the sound of Ophelia’s voice rang out amongst them, demanding a halt in the fighting. A snort left Apollo’s quivering nostrils. Who was there even left to fight…?

As the adrenaline and blood-lust slowly trickled from his system, Apollo allowed his breathing to slow, the barrel of his chest shuddering and heaving as he attempted to catch his breath. Too deep of a breath caused his left side to sting from where THAROS’ buck had grazed him. It had been a fight unlike any that Apollo had been in before… If he was even honest with himself, it had been his first fight. He hated having to hurt others in such a way, but it was for the Grey, his family.

I did it today, and I’d do it again… I did this for my family, for Phaedra.

Regarding THAROS once more, Apollo turned slowly on his haunches and moved closer to where Ophelia was standing, the daggers of his hooves stepping lightly in the plush grass. The morning dew that had previously been a hindrance was now gone, evaporated in the unmerciful temperatures of the Tallsun heat. With each step that he took, the unicorn’s head drooped lower from both fatigue and the pulled muscles that he had retained. Even though he found that he wanted nothing more than to rest, Apollo knew that his duty wasn’t complete yet. He was the healer of the Grey, and this was a time of war… His family would need him, and if Ophelia would allow it… Apollo would heal those of the Foothills as well.

Even though they were the Grey’s enemy, they were still living souls, still equines of all breeds that had families of their own. Apollo wouldn’t be able to leave in good conscience if he simply up and abandoned them to their wounds. Their leader may have been able to abandon these faithful fighters to their fates, but Apollo wouldn’t.

“Ophelia,” Apollo called, his voice breathless due to the aftermath of the fight and honey-brown orbs resting on the form of his alabaster leader. “If there’s any who need services of a healer, I’ll gladly help them… And, if you should deem it okay, I’ll help mend those of the Foothills, as well.”

[Wordcount: 573.
Injuries: A few muscles in Apollo’s neck have been pulled from Tharos’ attempt to break his horn, and a has received a bruised, hairless patch on the left side of his barrel from where Tharos bucked out at him. Also has a bite mark on the high-point of his cheekbone from Tharos’ bite.]

I can never fight for myself, but, for others, I can kill."