Blitzkrieg: sloppy firsts ~ Soraya

The ground is entirely slop.

Iagan, standing in it, suppresses the urge to sneer. She is no princess and the mud doesn’t bother her, but she cannot say it is ideal. Ah, well – at least there’s something she can do about it. She concentrates. There is a frozen moment and then her hooves are wound with flame, and the ground directly underneath her feet is baked into something more like loam: soft and still very pliable, but better than the pudding that is masquerading as the rest of the ground. High speed – her strength – will still be denied her, but she will at least be able to manage a slow canter if she is careful. The rogue Bronze shows all of her teeth in what is certainly not a grin, and she takes a step. The earth where her hooves had been puddles back into mud.

This will be a curious battle, Iagan knows; her opponent is also a dual-elemental, but in the end Iagan is stronger. Think of it as stacking hands: air on the bottom, fire above that, water there, and lightning ending up on top.* She is glad of this. Weakness is not something Iagan trades easily in. She is therefore glad too that the air has cleared – she can see many yards in every direction, and so she sees Soraya easily.

Iagan picks up a canter. It is not something she would chance if she were not baking the earth she steps on, and it is certainly not as fast or reckless as she would like. It is a lope at best, almost as if she is about to break stride back into a trot. But a canter serves her purposes better. She has more maneuverability because she is not as grounded. It’s a trade-off, as so many things in life are, but she needs the freedom of free-fall that comes with the canter. Her goal is decimation, after all.

In the end Soraya is not very far away at all; in a matter of eight strides or so, Iagan is upon her. She comes from behind, her body passing mere inches from Soraya as she slows and snaps with calculated brutality at the other mare’s face. The art of feinting is so misused, if not neglected, in this age that it is likely Soraya will be nigh entirely preoccupied by Iagan’s gnashing teeth, her jaws gaping and elegant strings of saliva hanging between. The black mare is not stupid. Soraya is much taller than she – five inches being not so much in life but a significant amount in battle – but her face, if her head is hanging low and comfortable as it should be (a horse’s tucked or raised head lowers its maneuverability by a considerable amount, as the neck acts as a rudder in hairpin situations), should be well within Iagan’s grasp. And grasp she does, with viciousness born of Rogue life and her own malicious nature, gouging with her teeth at Soraya’s delicate facial skin, her eyes, her nostrils. With her lips peeled back she is a horrific sight: her face all a rictus of violence, her dark eyes narrowed and flinty and her ears buried in the tangle of her heather-wild hair. If Soraya is a normal horse, she will throw her head in the opposite direction of Iagan’s mouth – in this case, to the left, as Iagan has attacked from the right – also forcing her weight to that side and somewhat to her forehand.

This is what Iagan was hoping for, but even if it does not happen that way her attack combination should be successful. Even as her teeth (blunt and herbivorous, it is true, but then she is not seeking to tear or slice) assault Soraya’s face and neck, Iagan brings her forelegs down in a modified stride, tucking her weight onto her haunches briefly and slamming her forelegs into the flexor tendons on the rear of the front cannon.

Mistake her not, this is no rear. Merely she came up slightly higher in her stride, perhaps ten inches instead of her natural stride of six, and drove her forehooves into these most delicate and vital tendons. They are easy enough to cause to swell – a good wallop will set them off, and a good enough hit is sure to cause more serious damage, such as a tear. Hell, Iagan knows that even a scraping hit will be enough to cause moderate swelling, and moderate swelling is more than enough to cause discomfort and pain and a sure limp. In a battle where all hits must be low and ugly, this in particular is a beautiful attempt. And Iagan’s Lightning trumps Soraya’s Water, however slight it may be at the current juncture; the mare will feel that electricity dig into her skin and do its best to ravage whatever target Iagan hits.

The wonderful thing about this combination is that whether Soraya is standing (unlikely) or moving, it is perfectly likely to hit – particularly if her opponent is mid-stride, it will be difficult to avoid the hammering of Iagan’s hooves. Whatever the angle or heaviness of the hit, Soraya will surely be left with a limp and painful swelling around the very tendons that absorb much of the shock from stepping and allow her to flex her leg to its fullest. Weight-bearing on her right side will be difficult, and since Iagan has attacked her forelimb, using her hind legs in any manner that requires weight on her forehand will be difficult and painful.

Being a Bronze is a wonderful thing. Iagan is far from done.

Immediately upon becoming grounded, the black mare takes one stride and cow-kicks out as mightily as she can, sending her bludgeoning hoof into the hock and gaskin area of Soraya’s near hind leg. Iagan’s hooves are small and hardy, and for this she is grateful; the damage will not be spread out and lessened but centralized to one area, a nucleus of pain. If Iagan has her way (and, even if Soraya is moving forward, there is little reason why she shouldn’t, as Soraya is longer of body than Iagan by a few inches, and a few inches is all that is needed in addition to Iagan’s swift stride forward) that one area will be the knot of tendon and flesh that is the hock, folding the joint by force and sending Soraya scrabbling for purchase in the soupy terrain. Even if the hock is missed, there are other and equally excellent targets in that region: the lower gaskin or upper cannon are both acceptable and will both result in pain, swelling, and a noted lack of maneuverability.

When you are not as strong as another and agility and speed are your allies, you must do your best to make your opponent as clumsy and lumbering as possible. This is Iagan’s goal and the likelihood she has done it well is high.

She does take pleasure in doing things well.

Iagan’s body curves like a scythe as she breaks from Soraya’s side, moving away with exceptional care and at a speed that is not very fast at all – but is, at this and all points, a lick faster than Soraya could hope for herself. Iagan, like Leonardo DiCaprio, greatly enjoys a game of “catch me if you can.”