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. ^^ ]