the darkest nights produce the brightest stars
She is faster, faster than him and Fennick doesn’t have time to spin away from her before Kimber is on him again. He had gotten in close when he had body checked her, and while he had tried to spin away, tried to put distance between them, tried to present her with nothing but well padded rump, he was not fast enough. She lashed out with her front legs at almost a 90 degree angle from his right shoulder. While he sees the blow coming, all he can do is try and finish the spin. He already has momentum carrying him left, the best he can do is keep the trajectory, and hope to lessen her blow. He is still moving left, in what would be an impressive turn on the haunches, when her hooves strike directly behind his right elbow.
Fennick whinnies in pain. Unfortunately, she had not struck the thick, well padded meat of his shoulder. But, neither had she nailed him directly on the ribs. His elbow and the side of his pectoral muscle scream a protest none the less, and Fennick feels the horrible straining of bruised tissue as he completes his spin away from her.
He hurts, and he is not in the mood to do any complicated dance moves. He is not agile enough to maneuver in these close quarters, so again he goes for brute force. He musters all his strength and rocks to his front legs and bucks. Both his hind legs fly towards her in a brutal, if not immaculately well aimed attack. Even a partial hit with two back hooves would be enough to potentially bench even the toughest fighter. He doesn’t have the luxury of being picky about his aim, but hopes she is still within range.
His hurt elbow screams in agony as his full weight is transferred to his front legs. It is too much, and the limb gives way. With a crash and puff of dust, Fennick’s face smashes into the ground. But his attack is completed, and he feels nothing but satisfaction even if he tastes nothing but dirt. The second his back hooves hit the ground he is scrambling to his feet. He greatly favors his right shoulder as Kimber circles him. He still has three good legs, and the best thing he can do is keep her in front of him and in his sight. He won’t attempt another attack, rather, he will wait for her to come to him and play the defensive as best as he can. Pivoting like this is not easy. Every time he picks up his right leg his elbow pops menacingly, and he has to fight to keep from wincing. Yet, he needs to do this, needs to keep her in his sight. If at all possible, he would meet her head on. Better to see her attack coming and have time to dodge, rather than be surprised from behind.
Adrenaline from the battle and from his own injury surges through him. He grins, the red dirt looking like blood against his black muzzle. Bring it on, Fennick is waiting.