A new dawn greets me and the responsibility to train fresh blood is close at heel. Lord help them, the recruits always seemed full of surprises and eagerness to learn. I arose to meet the morning without complaint, fully expecting today to be just as eventful as the last few training sessions I’d had with my soldiers. I feel almost bored walking to the meeting place, my mind only starts humming over details of my opponent when I arrive. I muse that this time it was different, the taller Tennessee walker might just provide more than average amusement. Out of all the people I had gathered over this season, he had turned out to be the most optimistic. About everything. Admirably I had harbored serious doubts that the dusty colored stallion would pull off the demanding rank of [Soldier], but he had thus far managed without a single moan or groan.

Guess who was proven wrong?

Despite desiring him to take our job seriously, I sort hoped that his enjoyable nature remained. It was a fresh complement to my own sour attitude on certain days, and smiles happened to be contagious. Perhaps that was how he would win over our enemy’s, with a wave and a smile. My back is toward the rising sun, tail flickering between hocks like a ticking clock. Wings are neatly tucked against my sides and collar is shining clean from the fresh polishing I’d given it earlier in the week. I wait patiently underneath the cloudless blue sky and uptop the purest sand this side of the Helovia. Our spar would take place on homeland soil between the ocean and oasis.

Summary: No magic. No companions. (0,3)

Setting: This will be set in Dragons Throat, sunrise. Clear blue tallsun day, between the oasis and the ocean.

The boy came flying in. Well, flying as only a wingless one could. I offer him an amused beam, his eagerness apparently in full bloom—with cheerful karma following close at heel. It was a shame that this lad was indeed an ‘equine,’ wings would have suited his personality; mostly because to me it seemed more often than not, his heart was soaring in heaven. Krypt came to a halt, dust swirling around his black feet and caramel hocks. Sapphire pools rose to meet me, squinting when they met the wrath of dawn instead. Wistfully he returned my smile and offered words of greeting to break the silence, “Hello Midas!” Throats kinsman had been the closest thing to family when my dam and sir died, they had comforted me when Norse passed from this world.

There was a special place in my tender heart for each and every member of Dragons Throat, but—it was the Soldiers who snagged a larger chuck than most. So it wasn’t awkward to me when my neck stretches out with muzzle reaching for velvet crimson in acknowledgement, “Good morning brother, it’s nice to see you've settled in.” I addressed him as ‘brother’ and physically greeted Krypt in a way that would concrete my words.

He started speaking again, fast, obviously nervous and perhaps a little wet behind the ears. I took no offense, and chose to listen quietly without interjecting anything of note. My head turned toward the burnt sky, admiring the sunrise while he expressed everything that needed to be voiced—and a little extra. "I apologize, I'm just a bit excited that's all!" such vibrant spirit reminded me of Cera, and how the child was hardly ever in a dreary mood. Cranium angles toward him, kindly regarding the chatterbox walker, “I’m sure you’ll make your kinsmen proud today.”

Krypt moved away, turning to face me again when a reasonable distance had been struck. Curiously I stood by, silent and watchful. Appearance was that of a calm father; no visible sign could signal the increased beats of my heart—nor the slight tremble of anticipation along my spine. There was a secret thrill, a joy for testing the limits of your body on kin without worry that a large amounts of damage would be dealt.

Both of us stared at the other as though this wasn’t going to turn into a kicking/biting/strength test fest. We stood nearly the same height, he just a few inches taller. If the lad was very good at reading body language, he might delve past my well-built façade of good will, and take notice when patched hindquarters started to tense and shoulders began to flex.

"I believe I will start Midas.”

So it begins….

He comes charging toward my right side, swinging his weight up into a standing rear. This was a common tactic, one that didn’t surprise me because I had seen it often, and knew how to respond. I rise up to meet him, twisting so that I am mostly facing his blunt charge headon.

Hindquarters bunch underneath the weight of my bulk. Legs are splayed naturally from countless hours of practice. I am well balanced, and ready when he strikes with flailing forehooves pointed to dig into my spine or flank. Ebony muzzle extends with yellow teeth widened to take in the dun flesh along the left side of his neck or mane. My left appendage moves up to strike a blunt attack on the farthest left side of his breast or left shoulder. Golden dagger is pointed down to prevent piercing of any flesh. This wasn’t a battle, and I didn’t want to permanently scar a friend.

Because I rise to meet him, Krypts hoof falls shy of my flank, but instead push’s against the fleshy part of my shoulder that is covered with steel. I can hear the sounds of metal being scratched, and am suddenly very thankful that the alloy was strong; otherwise it would have been flesh that felt the burning effects of hoof-force digging past the second layer of hide.

Summary: (1,3) Rears up to meet Krypt, aims to bite at Krypts neck or mane. Strikes out with left forehoof to bluntly hit Krypts left breast or shoulder.

I could feel blood burst inside my mouth, his blood. Satisfaction gave way to me swallowing the idea of recoil. It is sticky and coppery tasting, horribly not something that I desired on a normal basis. There wasn’t much, but enough to cause my tongue to think about curling up in disgust. Face cringed only slightly before smoothing out a moment later to push past the distaste for the sake of my concentration and the spar. I never liked the favor of crimson lifeblood; yet here I was, prying it from his neck like a suckling babe.

Small traces of fur slipped between my ivories and across my tongue. He shifted away, I strained to follow, and the weight of my forehoof fell against flesh. I could feel it hit when something more solid than air came in contact… Though I couldn’t, and wouldn’t take a moment to gawk down and see what had been struck.

Krypt fell forward, toward my right. In response I also slipped into a fall, feeling earth collide with my forelimbs to equal all four hooves solidly planted upon the desert sand. Compact earth shifted beneath our struggles. How many had through this same dance? Leaving their hoof marks to be tread upon.

The Tennessee walker darted to my hindquarters, out of the corner of my hindsight I watched his bay frame unwisely start to rise into another rear. A disappointing move on his part, because by now I had gained solid balance again. Considering my work had simply been fall forward and readjust. Before his bite can mark my flank I shift the muscles along my thighs and hindlegs, pushing head down until the flesh along my shoulders bunched up and pulled tendons from the rear to heaven. I bucked at him, right dagger flying up at an angle—slightly higher than my left. I hoped to knock him across the chest as a warning to never get behind a horse.

Summary: (2,3) Bucks at Krypts chest.

Thankfully my timing had been perfect, the aim was true and kick firm—everything fell into that last move almost poetically. I could tell that he was tickled to death by actions not just because of the pressure against my shoes, but because I could hear his gasp of surprise, followed by the glorious sound of air being forced from expanded lungs. My lips curved into a tight grin of victory, an important lesson had been learned—I was curious to see if he would take it to heart. No mercy. No quarter. Even when fighting a greenhorn, or a brother; I had been trained to attack with 110% (anything less was dishonoring.) The moment my talons touched down, head started to twist along its attachment to see where my opponent was heading next.

He wisely shifted from my flank, obviously not wanting to relearn our last instruction. I’m proud to see an angry glint in his normally giddy eyes. It was thrilling to know that I had placed those annoyed little sparks behind his pupils; by now I figured it was about time this solider got serious. My ears paint their way along this ebony skull, sensing when his dusty body comes flying around, to I presume try for another attack. I twist to meet his approach with head and neck slithered at an angle—mimicking his movements my hindquarters also bunch up to pull this bulk into a standing rear. Much to my dismay his direction makes attempt for my chiseled mug; I can tell because of how the walkers foul smelling breath thrusts past a personal barrier of contact.

Movements spurred by a frantic desire to see my facade remain without mark I twist further along the right side of his neck. Exposing mane and the fleshy part of my upper nape, instead of soft snout and eyes. His teeth land across the scruff, pulling at my mane painfully and eating into flesh. My teeth fall flat against each other, grinding to somehow lessen the pain of his viper like strike. He would be mistaken to celebrate just yet thought; through the burn of my now throbbing neck I open jaws to slip a final bite along his own nape.

Summary: (3,3) Bites at Krypt’s neck.