THE DRAGON'S IRE, MORE FIERCE THAN FIRE
He knows the youngster will show, they always do. No one, not even he, would forfeit and suffer that kind of shame.
The blood is ambitious, perhaps even more than Killdare was when he was young. A good long stint in the Chamber might cure him of that, might align his enthusiasm to something worthwhile. Not ambition for himself, but ambition for the good of the Chamber. Given time, perhaps the young bay would find he suited that purpose. Pray he does. It is not likely the chamber or its Queen would take kindly to a turncoat.
The Colonel is glad that they do not make a dance of this, ditching the grandeur of show. Diving into the meat of the matter, no puns intended. As he rears, engaging his haunches and bringing his weight there to balance, the kid backrolls. The younger male pulls away from him before turning and reaching like a snake, aiming to strike at Killdare’s haunch. Before the winged brute can land and side-step the attack, Nymphetamine’s teeth meet their target.
It’s an irritation, if it is anything. Dull, foliage-eating teeth scraping the dragon-stallions skin. A minor abrasion was left in its wake and soon it would give to some swelling, but only for a few hours. He lands with annoyance, heading to the juvenile’s left. Killdare grunted, young colts tended to be mouthy, and he deemed Nymphetamine no exception. It was a common game among the young, nipping one another back-and-forth back-and forth. The Colonel had outgrown such games long ago, and he swats the boy in passing. He smirks as the granite-colored spike slices the blood’s shoulder, kissing him with a little souvenir.
If Killdare thought the lad had retreated into the treeline, he would have laughed mockingly and flown back to the Chamber. No, the young warrior wanted him to follow, vying for the cover to aid him in his assault. The dragon-bay pressed forward, folding his scaled arms against his sides. He had learned to navigate a forest some time ago, true he was terrible at it-at first. However, once he discovered how to roll against the rough bark and not simply to barrel into the trunks, his life become far easier. Now as he weaved, his wings scraped their discord against the trees, gouging the wood as he rolled off. While the Chamber Colonel worked his way much slower than the sleek Arabian hybrid, he could still manage to discern the blood’s footfall. Autumn leaves offered little in the way of muffling one’s steps.
The young one may have taken off into the forest, but Killdare can distinguish the increase in volume as he turns back for him Each step gets closer, the sounds fall harder on his ears as the boy comes at him. He hasn’t advanced far enough when back legs seek the soldier, trying to kick the stout bay in the gut. Killdare shifts his weight from side to side as he backs, giving himself distance from the strike. Two lean legs whiz just past his chest, and he pulls his head and neck back to avoid a crushed windpipe. Backing isn’t his favorite, as it is not commonly any horse’s favorite, and he makes sure to show it.
He’s managed to dodge this time, placing him nearer to the lads barrel just before his hips. As his opponents hind quarters seek to return to the ground, Killdare throws his shoulder into the hip and flank of the conjurer. Hoping to throw him off balance, hoping to send him crashing into a neighboring tree. Taking the opportunity to turn back towards the clearing, he stomps off and away.
As he locates the break in the woods and emerges, he takes a quick backwards glance, coming face to face with the boys feet. One cuts him on his right, near his poll, the laceration swivels down towards his jowl. He greets the blood’s descent with a buck, throwing his powerful back legs at the others breast and neck. He sets his jaw, the knotted muscle in his haunch protests at this move. Finding his feet again he charges forward, leaping into the air and rising into the skies above the treeline. Killdare makes a great circle, pulling around to face the forest edge once again. A scarlet stream falls down the right side of his face, sending droplets of blood spattering to the earth.
"Enjoying yourself young one? Do not overwhelm yourself with excitement, soon the scrimmage will be over. You'll be sullen with desire for the fight to continue, some men love War. They love the terrible things, always, and how will you tell others? What will you do when the thing is done, and you find you love it more than anything that has happened to you, before or since!" He calls, looking down at the young bay.
hmm, not sure about this one. a bit confused about some of the positioning so didnt know how i should respond to them. -shrug shrug-