I find myself caring less and less about Tio's threat. Unwise, maybe, to forget about the fool who barged into my land and confronted me, yet not so directly. I wish he had just challenged me then, so that I may have wrestled for my title and arisen victorious immediately. Then, I would not have this threat hovering in front of my eyes like fucking fly that refuses to buzz off. When things settle in the land, perhaps I should seek out his bitch ass myself. If he cannot put me in my place, then his hope of holding the land for longer than a few glorious weeks even if he has the strongest army in the land is useless.

Weakness is not a word that I recognize in myself. Am I weak? I am not. Tempestuous, violent, and often disagreeable, but I doubt any in the land of Helovia would risk their ass to call me weak. If Tio wanted to do harm to my family, to take this land from them, he would need to break my vicegrip and my will. I think he is an idiot for believing either to be possible. Still, mindful of the fact that even fools can have great luck, I warned my herd to be alert for any advances he may try to make. As such, the warriors look weary from patrols, but I feel their hearts are still strong. When the taste of battle comes, the blood alights and restores the energy you once thought lost. Surely, my guards were just bored.

When I see him, Gaucho, I smile to myself. He is off duty, yet here he stands onthe northern rim of the Dragon's Throat, ears attentive and posture calm. I wonder idly how long he has been standing there, for the sun is already drawing down toward the west, its rays beginning to cut into eye level: the most annoying tailend of the day. Approaching from the south, I can clearly see the brute's back, his head turned toward the meadow but held high. I pause for a moment in the crimson dust; surely, Gaucho is just bored. With a smirk, gleeful with a wicked idea, I begin to charge.

My hooves pick up speed, slamming into the earth and loosing the red dust, which curls in the air as the wind rushes on ahead of me. Such a bitch, always being faster than her master. The gale races on ahead, my mane twisting forward behind it as the blonde tendrils twirl about my eyes, but those dark, hard oceans are focused upon the steady brown figure of Gaucho. I begin to curve left, trying to avoid any fast thrown hooves toward me, and set my right shoulder to lean back toward him when we should be parallel. My shoulder yearns to collide with Gaucho's left, though our height difference would likely land it toward the bottom or top of the foreleg. My mouth, chasing ahead of my body like the wind, reaches up toward the left side of the nape of the brute. Should my shoulder connect with the body of the primal stallion, I would swing my right hip up around, attempting to batter the left flank with the sturdy bone.

If they are bored, I can just entertain them by beating them into the dirt.
""

[ WC: 559; 1/3; 0/2 MC; BULK and AIM.
UHHH. idk I kind of left it up to you how long until nightfall, if you wanted to take it there. ^^ ]

A smile grows on my face as I realize, quite comically, that the stallion has no idea what is happening. I resist the urge to laugh at him as the cascade of emotions plays on his features, dumbfounded by my sudden assault despite my more or less friendly exterior. I had expected him to at least defend himself with my fast approach, but from what I can tell, Gaucho has no intentions of doing such. Like I said, I would laugh, except I am quite certain I would be caught in a gale of laughter. This fight is happening, whether or not the big blockhead realizes it just yet. Though, not everything is dimwitted about the brute. My dark eyes catch movement in his crown of antlers as I get closer, though I was uncertain of what it was.

As my shoulder collides into the massive, stationary statue that is Gaucho, I find my shoulder ringing with the impact, the jolts ringing up my bones even as I am shoved back in the direction I came. I am strong, but I am nowhere as large as Gaucho. Frankly, there are certain parts of mass that willpower cannot overcome. I bounce back, almost as if my own attack had been a futile gesture of a child. My own weight being shoved back from the rock-like figure of Gaucho makes my bite cut short, though the feel of skin between my teeth lets me know my aim hasn't gone back. As the snake launches herself from the antlers of the brute, we are heading in the same direction, away from Gaucho, and so her teeth clip upon the flailing blonde mass of hair, but miss my neck, thank god. I have no idea what sort of hellish venom the monster has in her jaws, but I don't want any of it in me.

As I continue to rush forward, I feel my last attack hit the mark, but it is lost in a haze of almost being bit by a fucking snake, my breathing picking up harshly as a cold rush runs over my face. Little scares me, and I mean... literally almost nothing scares me. However, being poisoned is something that I do not know I can handle.

I curve sharply as I clear his body, pivoting around to look at the surprised face of the stallion even as his words meet my rather shocked face - though for entirely different reasons. Kri! I Gaucho! he bellows at me, and as my front hooves settle on the red dirt once more, I lean my head back and laugh, the wind tousling my mane behind me. "I know!" I call out to him, before I begin to ready myself once more. My legs push off as I race back to him, feeling the cool evening settle in around us. "Is a spar with a herdmate that odd to you, Gaucho?" I ask with a laugh as I aim myself toward his right, knowing it to already be battered by my attacks. I keep a wary eye up in his antlers, now painfully aware of the blasted snake in the cage of horns.

His wings extended, blocking me a clear of his barrel, but it is of no matter. I seem to not be phased, and instead I just tuck my neck and charge forward, wing or not to stop me. The delicate bones of the wing would yield to the plummeting force of my body, or I would be pissed off that everything of Gaucho appears to be more stubborn than a mountain when it comes to moving. I aim to be angled at his body in a manner that would allow my right hoof within range of his shoulder. Nearing where I remembered seeing his wing before tucking my head, I kick my back legs up toward his right shoulder, though my aim might fall short with the disparities in our height. I often wish that I were taller, but I know that my body has long since stopped growing. If everyone else would stop being a giant, I guess there would be no problem.

Rude of them to grow so tall.
""

[ WC: 701; 2/3; 0/2 MC; BULK and AIM. ]

I would not go so far as to call myself fat. However, it may be noted that I am round, very round. This is not the form of gelatinous round you might see in the shapely elders who spend their days grazing. My figure is more of a solid, hard rock-face of musculature. Regardless, my barrel is round, with my withers tucked neatly on my back and hardly visible behind robust wings. The lady-like figure many mares may kill for died in my earlier years. I buried it under hard work and training. The point - stallions are naturally robust. I had to work for it.

I am confident in my strength, yet Gaucho is still a giant which worries me. He is broad and tall, and despite all of my training, I fear more of a brute. As my dark eyes note that he is turning a shoulder downward in my angle, now bedecked with sharp spikes, I feel a quiver of doubt in my belly. A friendly spar. However, the lack of understanding in Gaucho's mind at the start of this battle has me doubtful. With the night chasing my heels, I move swift as possible.

My right wing flares up. First, I would have it cleared from the aim of those dreadful spikes. Second, the feathered appendage raises toward what I hope to be the unsuspecting right side of Gaucho's brawny face. I have committed too much of my power into this charge and kick to deftly dodge the spikes completely, but I would spare what is most precious to me. The spikes crash into the upper end of my shoulder by the base of my neck, and, at first, I feel no pain as they slide into flesh. It is more of that grotesque, step by step moment in your brain where you feel the damage being done, but you do not really feel it. It's not until the evening air claps back toward my bleeding flesh that I let out a grunt of surprised pain, feeling the knives that had their teeth sunk into me moments before. Despite the pain which makes my senses blot red, I drive forward. One cannot stop the wind from blowing. You cannot stop me.

My hoof strikes out clean and unhindered, from what I assume would be his distraction from his own attack. It lands neatly in the underbelly, and I smile with gruff enthusiasm as I feel the push back of muscle and bone. His ribcage is protecting him well today.

And then, I was clear, skittering past his frame on speeding limbs. The joy I felt at my successful attack was short lived, for I heard the pounding of hooves in the growing darkness as night fell swiftly. Had we been in the air, Gaucho likely would have been bested on speed for a good while until his mammoth frame could build up enough momentum to catch me. On the ground, however, his long limbs made short work of my own small paces, and soon he was upon me. I note the sway of his head as he comes closer to my side, racing up but staying out of the range of my back legs. I smirk. So, the caveman learns. The throw of his wing tells me that his attack is coming and fast, but I am never one to allow such offenses easily.

Instead, I throw my right shoulder heavily toward Gaucho's left side, aiming to heave my chest toward the meeting of his shoulder and barrel, mindful of the spiked collar, while my teeth race upward toward the curled neck of Gaucho as his antlers strike for me. Instead of my already battered right shoulder, they scrape upon my left shoulder, loosening hair and small bits of flesh, stinging pain, but at least the claws of the strange appendages will not find their way into the chasms caused by the bone spikes earlier. Should my attack land, I would be hurting, but much less than flesh torn asunder once again. I hope that my burly stature will cause the brute some pain as well, or at the very least catch him by surprise.
""

[ WC: 738; 3/3; 0/2 MC; BULK and AIM.
/wipes brow. CUTTING IT CLOSE, but I couldn't let it default. <3 ]