Blitzkrieg: I FEEL LIKE I'M WALKING ON AIR

THE WORD IS TIMSHEL -- 'THOU MAYEST' RISE FROM SIN.

Cold.

It breaks across the landscape like water spilling across a canvas; Altair feels its bitterness and slowly plows through the foot-deep snow with care and caution. His Air roared all around him in a resounding battle-cry, and he shivered in the glare of the sunlight before moving off. He squinted, his eyes half-shut by the glare; but his Air knew where vanquishing fire trickled, and he, compelled, followed it lustily. His Air felt the clawing of Fire (and in sooth he hated it, hated the close quarters and its power) and grew enraged at its natural born weakness. When Ethereal came closer and halted, Altair instantly grew alert, refusing to halt as she did. He was strong, but he wasn’t stupid.

To let a mare (in any case) approach and halt was bad business, and Altair would have no part of it. As she extended her nose to squeal Altair rose spectacularly to the challenge (him being a stallion an all), his own teeth offering only pain (though he didn’t expect to bite anything, he’d save his combo for later). She did not intimidate him – she had pulled this move before and he would not fall for it. While she had halted and extended her little nose out, Altair had kept walking – he had veered off to the right to eschew her attempts of an attack. All he had to do was succumb to his over-powering flight instinct. To hit him, Ethereal would no doubt have to contort her whole body while mid-air, which in the snow was precarious. Altair, being Air, was immensely faster than her because of his element, and he could have easily avoided the blow entirely, given Ethereal had halted and then half-reared in order to attack, and Altair had never stopped moving at all.

But her white-hot hoof, borne with tendrils of fire, came scything down across his extensor tendons below the knee, obliterating fur and flesh beneath it. He had been lifting it (which meant no weight was upon it, thankfully) when she hit it, and the force of the strike, coupled with the pain, caused him to slip when his leg landed. It took him several seconds to regain posture, and by then he felt the repercussion of the blow. She had no momentum behind the blow (because she had been standing still), and since she had sought to drag her hoof across rather than punch, she also had very little power. Which thankfully, was a good thing for Altair as he came out of the attack with a raw, burnt area down his cannon, devoid of fur and flesh and smarting immensely, but relatively uncrippled. But, for the most part his ‘delicate’ tendons were unharmed, though he would limp the remainder of the battle it was simply a small price to pay for being branded by a fire-wielding hoof.

He instantly moved on the leg, testing it tenderly. He would have a limp for the remainder of the battle, and his blood splattered across the white snow. It was tough going, especially in a foot of snow, and he wondered how Ethereal so easily repositioned herself when he, naturally faster and stronger (both by Air and gender), had to plow through the snow to move. He snarled as she aligned herself, knowing full well any time a mare ever got close to him it was to hurt him.

He shied instantly, away from the blow and away from the mare – he would have to be stupid to not. But in the deep snow it was slow and torpid. He moved as quickly as possible without slipping (his left leg hindered him considerably, but the deep snow acted almost as a balm). To hit ribs in a foot of snow is an awfully high target, and it would take time and energy to do. Altair, bowing under his overwhelming instinct, was hit midstride right behind his shoulder at his Serratus Thoracis. The muscle there was large and sheathed the rib-cage well, however, Altair knew he would have difficulty doing anything more than a walk. The Serratus is used chiefly when in motion, and Altair did not plan to do anything more than walk. He marveled at Ethereal’s immunity to the weather -- how she was able to hit so high without slipping was beyond him. Altair, being a mere mortal, was restricted by common things such as slippery footing and disagreeable mares.

Instantly, her white-hot hooves brutally battered him, and now, more than anything in the world, he had a reluctance to move. He was short of breath, his Air cried at the savagery, sending gusts of wind towards her fire in attempts to extinguish it. He tenderly moved out, his muscles crying mutiny. His left side was nearly rescinded – now, he could not move to his best ability. He knew now that she was done, it was his time to attack; and Altair didn’t want to just ambush, he wanted to destroy. His Air rallied around him and let loose another howl of derision as he set off at a slow but intent walk. His left side cried out in protest as he moved, but he knew the battle would soon be over. As she scrambled in the footing, Altair regained himself professionally, his Air swirling around his legs as it sought to blow away snow to the best of its ability, hopefully clearing a path each time his hoof fell. His limping gait looked ridiculous, but he persevered with the idea that Ethereal would soon be his victim. While she was scrambling around he calmly circled and approached her from head on, taking as much time as needed, as it wasn’t a race.

Instead of halting as she had done, Altair lifted his right leg in stride and brought it slamming down upon where the short pastern and long pastern joint up, hopefully fracturing the joint. It is a small joint that is designed to absorb only horizontal concussion, so a blow like his meant that nearly 200 pounds of vertical pressure would easily snap it. For her to shrug it off would be folly. If she shied to the side, his ice-cold hooves (similar to her fire, the air around them causes frigid temperature) would brutally land (not graze, as that is not his intention – he does not strike like her but lands, his Air-cold hooves seeking to freeze-burn anything) upon the side, which was even better. If she attempted to say that he hit her while her left leg was lifted (keep in mind they’re head to head), it would be foolishness, for instead she would be exposing her left knee, which is just as easily broken. She would realize of course, that he was planning to decimate her, and would probably try her best to worm her way out of damage. To prevent this, Altair unleashed a terrible combo, his jaw unhinged and head snaking out to bite and crunch across her nasal cavity – it was not meant for power but for damage. His teeth, with nearly 120 PSI, could easily break the brittle bone. But doubtless, he would not hit it because she would evade it, so he could easily settle for causing pain by biting elsewhere. There is very little chance at all (unless she’s superhorse) that she could foresee his sneak-pastern attack, and his endeavors to distract her were executed with precision and an ease that only came with experience in the battlefield.

His attack did not come without its ramifications – he was all too aware of the constant shriek of his left side and the hot drumming of pain along his left leg. And he was also tired; constantly moving through-out a foot of snow was exhausting, even for a fit horse such as Altair. He landed with little grace and moved off to the opposite side (her right), passing Ethereal’s side, their flanks rubbing with the closeness. He felt her Fire lick across his Air and he grew weary of the Fire’s sapping strength and anticipated the end of the battle. As he passed, he unleashed a brutal, precise kick (it was not quite a cowkick, as he swung forwards and then out, not sideways) towards the back of her knee, hopefully causing it to buckle under the blow. It was the opposite leg he had attacked before, meaning she would have to put weight on the injured leg to avoid the blow. His left leg slowed him down considerably, and his left side screamed in protest, though he was soothed only by the thought that after this, the battle would be over, and her Fire would no longer plague him.

His hooves, laced with ice-cold air and vengeance, sought to deliver ruin upon the mare. Meta-carpals, tendons, and ligaments would hopefully be obliterated under the blow. If he hit the back of the knee as intended (hopefully while she was placing weight upon it), the force of the blow would cause her to slip, and in this footing, hopefully faceplant.

Oh well. That’s revenge. Served cold. Limping, proud (and perhaps just as arrogant as his father), he returned to Ni’Surgery.

A L T A I R
AD ASTRA PER ALIA PORCI.
ALSHAIN x GENESIS || AIR I