The battlefield sings a sweeter song than Tolio has ever heard, it’s like a spice, a drug, in his body. Veins, muscles, bones. Seeping into every pore, only further antagonizing the beast that lay snarling and snapping beneath scarred, muscled form. It was unleashed at last, and only had to wait for prey to waltz before the snout of the dangerous criminal, ready to be snapped up. The devil was far from a neanderthal; this was his stage, and he the main character. Nobody knew these polished floors as he did. Wasting the energy hunting down the disgusting peace-people was counter-productive, not to mention they knew the lay of the land far better and he could be blindsided. With the thick mud at his hooves from Birdsong and the fogs of the Edge, it was a dangerous excursion. The stone-heads were not worth broken legs. They were hardly worth the breath he exhaled upon their rotten territory.

In the distance, the mice scuttles, and eases past at a rapid but leisurely pace. Tolio snarls, their eyes meet as the massive brute glances his way. He is hardly visible in the half-light that is scattered further by the trees overhead, but the thick squelching of mud is a sure sign of his presence. Must be a fat bastard too with how heavily his hooves hit the disgusting substance. He never slows. Tolio advanced a few slow, jogged steps, lips curled in a snarl. It’s almost impossible to see. He desperately wishes to pursue, but if the idiot was going to bypass him, should he risk the injury he’d been previously musing over? Even so, he is alert now, and he strains his ears for more hoofbeats upon and within the mud.

It’s likely what saves his ass- quite literally. The pace is much faster from the fat bastard this time around, only making the noises more pronounced, and they advance far too quickly. There is no time to look over his shoulder, hardly any room to do so- Tolio must go with his gut instinct, even if he is never one to choose flee over fight. Lunging forward through the slurry, he stumbled as a shoulder barely kissed his croup from the left side, barely enough to bruise but more than enough of a reminder of the lumbering giant’s presence. It smarts, but it is a dull ache, and though his ass hurts when he continues forward with the motion that had brought him out of harms way of white teeth, it is not much. Thick, the mud stops his progress from gaining swiftness, renders momentum nearly impossible to gain. Now free from the constraints of the trees, he tosses his head to look at the brute not far from him with how far he’d stumbled.

There was no way he could turn sharply in this muck, but Tolio was long of body and leg, and he thanked his mother profusely for both as he planted his hooves in that previously-restricting now-supportive gunk and brought his hind end high, lashing out towards the darkly giant’s broad chest. The mud had effectively slowed all motion, as it was harder between the trees where few walked- those roads were slick and dangerous. Now, he didn’t have to fight his speed to reverse and kick the fat bastard’s ass. The moment his hind hooves touched earth, he lunged forward and ripped his forelegs from the earth that had caught them, almost like a gangly foal trying to escape the bog before reaching the path and sliding, stance going wide like a newborn as he swung his hind end in order to go with the motion, ending up with his crown pointed like a compass at the large stallion, facing the south-east borders. His rump still complains and smarts, though not in a way the stallion usually envisioned. It only worsens with the wide stance he must assume so as not to fall flat on his face during battle, but he is otherwise unharmed. Aside from that only his forelegs are slightly twinging from the mud abruptly stopping him, cursing the deep drifts of it that gathered like snow and yet stuck like glue. It was as if he'd been yanked back like a dog reaching the end of it's leash. But he was finally cut free, the ache was akin to a good workout. A grin still cracked his eerie facade. Like attracted like, right?

Horn dipped, shoulders braced, knowing his slimmer form was at disadvantage of mass but advantage of speed. The bastard would either have to charge or back away like a coward, and Tolio was more than prepared to play chicken. "That all you got, fat ass?!"

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Word Count: 795
Post: 1/4