Posted by MAB; in silver on November 12, 2008, 12:30 am
205.188.117.65
Against the freshly fallen snow and Blitzkrieg’s winter sky, Mab is a bruised and foreboding storm swept up from Hell’s arcane lore to bring forth a conflagration of misery and images of the beauty of the darkest of the season’s nights. She is no sweet pea, no super horse. Just a beast of balance that moved magnificently in a world that only now was beginning to rest from heavy snowfall, in a wet world that sizzled and popped beneath every tragic hoof beat. White hot iron hoof beats. There was no otherworldly power to be found here, no deception or illusions or thoughts of the unreal. There was nothing in her step save the natural ability for a horse to move freely in the sloppiest of conditions, for a flight animal to move this way and that as free as a bird with minor limitations in a world that was risky to those who may be victim to having ice and snow packed into the bells of their hooves - but Mab needed not to worry about ice packing into the bells of her hooves to send her scrambling for purchase, she was lit from within. Walking across the too-bright world, Mab found herself drawn to the same infernal flame that bloomed and blossomed wildly beneath her own skin. Anatole, she’d once fought the massive buckskin stallion, once sent him away with his tail between his legs… And she’d do it again.
If it wasn’t for his element, she may never have come across him, the sun forced the thick lashes over her eyes to become half lidded to save them from the very same burning that forced skiers to wear sun goggles. But Mab needed not worry after step by careful step at long last they dwelled within one another’s shadows maybe a step or two from one another. She’d reached him at a walk, the knee deep snow and treacherous spots hidden beneath offering to her no other option, but she’d come to meet him head on with pricked ears and dilated nostrils in close quarters that brought them quivering muzzle to quivering muzzle. After several breaths shared in silence the world erupted in the violent motion of the grulla and her gaping jaws being thrown towards Anatole’s face in a maelstrom of tangled wet mane, smoke, fire, and the savage movement of her striking of a single forelimb that sent snow flying all about them while three other massive, thick limbs held her balance against terra firma in a combo. A horrendous squeal was issued as her ears slicked back into the mane at her poll, her teeth were meant to hammer home against the tender and sensitive tissues of his face, most notably around his lips, nostrils, the great veins and arteries that ran along side his nasal bone… Or perhaps even his eyes to hit and cause to swell the wrinkles of his upper lids and greatly inhibit his vision for the duration of the fight. The strike of her white hot hoof was meant for his left foreleg from just above his knee on down. The blow was meant to bruise, to cut, to damage the joint and hopefully inhibit movement, to keep him slowed down more then what the horrendous snow levels called for on that freezing cold day. Regardless she hoped to hurt him in a manner so efficiently and purely equine.
The moment her hoof touches ground, the mare’s too-thick tail snaps against her haunches and she is in motion, moving away from the point of his shoulder at close to a forty-five degree angle for maybe two or three strides, and no doubt Anatole is in motion. But it matters not to her as she gathered up one hind leg (her right) and sent it screaming towards his body in hopes of hitting low on his barrel under the rib cage, the tender heart girth, his soft belly, or his legs depending on where he’s moving. There’s not much of a height difference between the two of them, not much of a weight difference either. The two fire horses are even dilutes, just different shades of dun and buckskin that sets them apart. And both of them blaze in fire. Regardless, the deep snow keeps Mab from bucking and setting into the stallion too much, but regardless she is there to cause him injury, whether it’s to the organs that lay below the protective cage of his ribs, or to his limbs, the powerful kick was sent forth to destroy him in some facet.
Again, the moment her toe touches ground she is in motion with her flaming tail flagged and balanced, the uninjured mare of ash and fire is wary. Adrenaline pumps heavily through her throbbing veins as her great heart races and thunders on violently within her glorious breast. She isn’t ignorant, nor is she stationary despite how the wet snow pack attempts to hold and grip against her, to vanquish her element - she still draws fire from the burning sun above. Mab is in motion moving away at a slight distance to keep an eye on the stallion as the fight progresses on ward.
FIRE III+ - Viper - Silver Warrior
Cante Peta
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