05-21-2015, 12:58 PM
After his first quip, he stays silent, steely eyes flicking between the madman and their new king. Errant had the conversation well in hand. Not that it is much of a conversation, with Mountain being blathering idiot and all. He cannot help the slight amusement the quirks his lips throughout the exchange. That Mountain is so clearly outmatched, yet still insists that he will banish, kill, what-have-you, every last one of them is entirely laughable. Positively absurd. And highlights so clearly the depths of lunacy that this man has sunk. He is not fool enough the let his guard down however. The stallion is mad enough to try any number of foolish things. Foolish things like attacking their new king as her turns back into the kingdom, just after tossing Mountain a short distance from the border.
The foolish stallion attempts to come after him, even in his stumbling, injured state. And while he cannot say that he is surprised, the situation is becoming more absurd by the minute. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Brennen lunge forward, driving Mountain away from Errant’s exposed back, directly towards Kratos and himself. He tucks his pale wings tightly into his sides, out of harm’s way. His ears flatten as he snaps menacingly at the mad stallion. Not that his teeth would do anywhere near the damage the wolves had.
He doesn’t charge immediately. Rather, he waits, biding his time. His dark eyes follow each movement the stallion makes until legs fall into a more precarious position, his balance already likely to be off kilter, his (no doubt enraged) attention focused on Brennen, before striking. His full weight is pushed into the attack, his shoulder dropping as he drives into the stallion’s front end from the side in an attempt to throw him off balance and knock the most weight bearing portion of his body from beneath him. And, hopefully, fell him. He would let the wolves take him from there. Or Kratos. Whichever got to him first.
The foolish stallion attempts to come after him, even in his stumbling, injured state. And while he cannot say that he is surprised, the situation is becoming more absurd by the minute. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Brennen lunge forward, driving Mountain away from Errant’s exposed back, directly towards Kratos and himself. He tucks his pale wings tightly into his sides, out of harm’s way. His ears flatten as he snaps menacingly at the mad stallion. Not that his teeth would do anywhere near the damage the wolves had.
He doesn’t charge immediately. Rather, he waits, biding his time. His dark eyes follow each movement the stallion makes until legs fall into a more precarious position, his balance already likely to be off kilter, his (no doubt enraged) attention focused on Brennen, before striking. His full weight is pushed into the attack, his shoulder dropping as he drives into the stallion’s front end from the side in an attempt to throw him off balance and knock the most weight bearing portion of his body from beneath him. And, hopefully, fell him. He would let the wolves take him from there. Or Kratos. Whichever got to him first.
There is never a day that goes by
that is a good day to die.
Hurricane