"With my speechless calm eyes."
He honestly didn’t know what he had done to earn the big stallion’s anger, but he clearly had done something wrong in the stranger’s eyes. This challenge, mock battle, should have been to practise, not to fight out some held grudge. A grudge that he didn’t know anything about. And he’s clearly in a disadvantage. His opponent was taller, much taller, and more muscular too. Brynmor had only recently starting training due to his former blindness and although his lineage had provided him quite a stocky build, it was nothing compared to the roan Warlander stallion. Yet he would probably have an advantage when it came to agility and speed, after all, he was less heavy and had a more sporty build.
It was a combination of the stranger’s anger and impressive appearance that made him hesitant. Turning around Brynmor kept his eyes on the stranger, never letting the massive male get out of sight by sidestepping and turning around his center. During the short moment the bay roan stood still he recognizes the other’s strike just before it happens. The tall male made himself even taller by rearing, and the graying warrior – or wannabe warrior – is only just able to avoid the first attack. The strike, which was aimed at his neck, only grazes his shoulder, only leaving a superficial wound on his shoulder. When aimed right that strike could’ve broken his bones.
Before Archam is able to turn away Brynmor raises himself up into the air, putting his weight on both his hindquarters as he rears, and just around the moment the taller stallion moves back to the ground again. His teeth are bared, aiming to sink in the big roan’s throat while his front legs reach out to clamp around the said male’s neck. He doesn’t keep himself up in the air long, aware of the fact that his vulnerable belly was easy to strike at while rearing. Just as quickly as he had been able to push himself up he’s down again, turning around on his hind legs to create some distance between them.
However, he isn’t given time to collect himself. As the gray male moves backwards, the bay roan moves forward. Archam aims for his side, teeth bared and ready to rip his flesh off. Pushing his ears further into his neck he turns his back toward the taller male, keeping his weight upon his front legs so he’s able to kick his hind legs out quickly. As his hooves leave the ground he feels the teeth digging into the flesh of his hindquarters, ripping skin and pulling out hair. Brynmor let a pained grunt leave his lips, feeling the aching of both his shoulder and hindquarters as he aims to kick his opponent’s chest with full force.
Once his hooves land on the ground again, digging into the moist ground, he takes off. His tact is off, his movement strained by the wound upon his shoulder. Even though it had only been a scratch, his muckles bruised and aching. Brynmor turns to look at Archam again, chest rising and falling as he pants, while blood paints his gray coat red.
"Nothing is coming to rise."