Archibald’s first buck had been unsuccessful, his immense hooves assaulting nothing but air. This caused the Dauntless to grind his teeth together, to set his jaw in iron determination. However, as Archibald sent his second attack it landed with ease. As his feather covered daggers smacked over Lace’s shoulder, Archibald shivered with a sick delight, taking in the sweet melody that was the deep thud that the white hoof made in the contact with the already damaged shoulder. He remembered, for a quick minute, how great the sensation felt when he had done the same thing in his battle with Jackal. The sound of his hooves delivering a devastating blow was a perfect hymn in the ears of the Dauntless, resounding deep within his heart. The Dauntless was too caught up in the attack to realize Lace’s upright position, and it cost him a blunt hit from a falling hoof. No amount of quick movement over the mossy earth could have saved his muscle from the scrape, but it did not bleed. The pain that shifted over his right superficial gluteal muscle, and Archibald knew it would be a long trek back to the Foothills. Tucking his chin and grunting, an anger boiling in his sweating body now, Archibald tightened the muscles of his hindquarters, feeling the drumming and warm sensation of the two bruises that were formed over his stifle and the muscles that covered his right femur even greater.

As Archibald shifted his weight, he felt Lace land on the ground near him. Taking advantage of it, Archibald quickly shot out a cow kick with his right hind leg, hoping to smack a detrimental blow to Lace’s left hind leg, aimed in the area between his hock and his fetlock—hopefully, the General would hit and demolish his cannon. Archibald did not feel remorse for the glazier, did not feel guilt for his brutal attacks. No, Archibald was a mercenary, a soldier, a machine trained to kill and to destroy. Lace was defending his home, and there was nobility behind that in which the Dauntless could find respect, but Archibald did not feel bad for aiding in this invasion. It did seem that the time that these two stood on the same side of the battlefield was so long ago, but alas, it was not. It was ironic, really, how Archibald had helped the Qian gain this territory, and now he was helping remove them. Oh, how the tides turn.

Lace shifted quickly, and the abrasive attack snapped something in Archibald’s mind—the grulla was desperate. He was losing steam, losing patience, losing his mind of battle. The more-lithe, but smaller, soldier struck towards the black knight’s head, his teeth aimed to blind the right side. Refusing to let this happen, the trained killer ducked his head and turned his hips slightly away from Lace. Archibald then turned his head towards Lace and darted upwards, jaws open with teeth aimed to snap over Lace’s exposed throat. As the Dauntless moved, he still felt the sting of pain on his hind end, reminding him of his adversary’s abilities, despite the grulla flailing for an attack. The thrusting motion the Dauntless used brought his right shoulder up, and as he attacked Lace’s throat he attempted to ram the point of his shoulder into the grulla’s chest.

Loretta’s growl erupted into a vicious, curdled snarl as she bound up her muscles. Finally, as the small dragon swopped down towards her, Loretta leapt. Her dangerous jaws swung open, aimed to snap closed over the small reptile and take her captive. The bitch’s sharp canines were ready, her prison of ivory white teeth yearned to spill over and taste the crimson liquor of blood. Loretta’s jaws were posed to hopefully grasp Fajira’s bodice, right below her wing. C’mere, little birdy. Loretta sneered into Archibald’s mind. Remember; don’t kill her—for to live without your companion would be worse than death. Loretta could tell the white was taunting her, while still trying to stay focused on her bonded, which Loretta wished to take advantage of in this attack.

The night air seemed to hang heavy now, wrapping itself around the soldiers with a tight hand. In the back of his mind, Archibald wondered if the Moon Goddess was watching these events unfold. She probably was, from her perch of safety on the surface of the white orb, dangled in the sky delicately. The light from which shone through the canopy of the forest, radiating the mist that danced around the hooves of the dueling pair. The coldness of the night nipped at Archibald’s wet body, the feathers hiding his dangerous hooves soaked with the dew and darkening with foliage and debris.











[PC: 3/4 | WC: 787 | M&C: 1/2 | BBs: Swift and Dance]