WE WERE STRONG.
we stayed bright as lightning. we sang loud as thunder.
we moved ever forward.</style>
I do not respect those who lie, steal, and cheat to gather what they hold dear. I am an honest soul, though maybe equally detestable at times for my quick temper. Still, no excuse hides the ugliness of a lie, and that is what I see across the face of my enemy now. Be she a unicorn garbed in black, or some small cur, it would not hide the impure soul and vile heart in her chest, peering out from glaring eyes fueled with insanity and rage. Respect? Who has respect for a coward who relies on the indirect means of accomplishment? Brandish your strength, throw it against me, and I will consider you worthy. A weasel is just a weasel. A warrior fights with a heart of gold.

I feel my hocks connect with a small, skeletal frame on their descent. Almost as though this was a comedy, I literally punt the mutt from the ground, my head turning backward as my hooves plow onto the earth to see her small figure sailing through the air before colliding on the earth below. I can hear the cartoonish croon of a dog in my head, but I cannot be certain whether Psyche made any noise or if I am just enjoying myself too much. Whatever the case, I hope it fucking hurt. A smug look of victory as my front end plunges forward rests on my lips; the bruise from hooves much more violent in their intent stinging as I do so, a reminder that I am not out of the clear yet. I am uncertain why the queen of the Basin has disadvantaged herself so by placing her body in such a weak position.

Until, of course, I remember that with smaller, lither sizes comes more speed. Despite the increased speed my training has granted me, the bitch is still quick to recover from her jarring landing. I could outrun her in this state, after all, if I so choose. It is a rare occurrence for my legs to be longer than that of my opponent, but I am not used to basking in the glory of longer strides. For now, I maintain an even canter that slows, allowing the dog to catch up to me, almost as if tempting her to try. Off she runs on a suicide mission toward my side as I begin to slow with the wear of battle. Her figure comes up on my right side, and I watch her movements carefully, her back end coiling as if in preparation for a leap. By her recent attacks, I am guessing she will likely aim for my wing joint, wishing to disable my flight and leave me vulnerable to her cronies to destroy once their lazy asses woke up.

Quickly, I push off on my front end and throw my shoulder right, not trying to evade her attack but cut it off at the source. As her jaws open, they come to land upon my right shoulder which I am pushing out toward her, hoping to jar her mouth upon impact. With the closed distance, the teeth are spread too wide to get a good grip on my thick musculature, leaving the savage teeth to only cause superficial tears, cutting pain with light trickles of blood, but hardly anything to put my war-tank of a body out for service. Limbs with paws and claws also are kept from the bulk of their injury, flailing about on my barrel and upper right foreleg, causing no pain, but some minimal discomfort and also humorous amusement to see her flailing thus. With my own jaws, I reach my nape inward toward my shoulder and bite out at her head quickly, trying to grasp on her skull or delicate ears before she can fall away from me. Should my attack land, I would pull her free of my shoulder, regardless of the excess damage it might cause, and toss her back toward the hellhole of the Basin where she belongs.

Bitch.
""

[ WC: 672; 4/4; 0/2.

Thanks for the great fight, Rayo! :D ]