Posted by Clock on November 22, 2008, 7:58 pm, in reply to "OF MOONS, BIRDS, AND MONSTERS [CLOCK]"
64.178.156.20

Clock shook her head as her breath misted dangerously in the frigid conditions. Silently she cursed the weather, but was faintly thankful that the snow had cleared and left footing clear. Though perhaps she should of prayed for rain, given that she was about to step into the ring with a fireball and all. Another defiant breath, and an easy trot was picked up in an attempt to loosen and warm up tendons and such. Anything quicker would have been dangerous and damning, not to mention would have wasted valuable energy. The wind whipped and howled around the two of them, though it appeared that neither of them were foolish enough to allow the other to put the wind behind them. So it swirled and swarmed at their sides, pushing perpendicular to their bodies. If Artaxxas thought that she were going to stand still and wait for the onslaught of hoof and power, well she was just being silly. Flight fought against fight in her mind, but she suppressed it and turned towards the other. Head on it was then? Fine. Her gait was slower, collected. She would not allow herself to accelerate, and instead remained calculated and measured. Her eyes focused on the other, her left eye more steady and focused than the right (which had to contend with the wind and blowing mane). Her body was tight and coiled, nose dipped slightly down. Her legs were not reaching or stretching out as far as they would have been had her gait been a canter or greater, they were tucking closer to her body than probably hoped for. Her ears flicked back in seconds as the other left the ground, and she altered just slightly to her right. The moment of impact was a horrendous affair of happenings. Artaxxas hadn’t gone up to her full height, thank you, so Clocks shoulder had made contact with something. It wasn’t apparent what, everything in battle happened in mere seconds. Perhaps a raised knee or a dangling cannon bone. Maybe nothing of importance at all. But what she did know was that pin pricks of warmth were dotting her leg. The hooves of the other had stomped down her own, leaving jagged flesh torn and bleeding and cold. Already blood was hardening, congealing, coating the once white hide. The impact had staggered her off balance, pushing on her left side and thus swinging her right around, positioning her so that she was facing South, the wind behind her and blowing her tail around her hocks. Fine. So her leg was throbbing and frozen and gross. Whatever, worse had probably happened. Not that she could remember right now, what with the tap dancing of shards of pain that riveted up and down her leg. But her mind was put past it, trying as she might to ignore it. Let her damage it more by moving on it…there were healers for a reason. She did not stand still and wait, instead she kept some ounce of warmth and suppleness in herself by moving forwards at a slow jog. Her ears were tucked back as once more the other decided that head on was the best. Fine. Though this time it appeared she wanted to damage the other side. Clocks eyes narrowed as the wind continued to push past her, almost forcing her forwards and towards Artaxxas. Their head passed, and the other let her back hooves fly. Now, it may seem proper to move away from something that comes flying at you, but Clock moved closer to the other into the point of impact. She grunted in pain as her left leg protested the movement, nearly stumbling into Artaxxas. Her thought process was simple. The less distance there was for the hooves to travel, the lessened the impact there would be. Contact was made past the most robust part of the ribs, cushioned (hah! If you could even call it that) into the fleshy area in front of the hind legs. Pain, pain, ow. At least the force had been somewhat tempered. Blood gushed and tore down her side from the inflicted damage as her vision grew hazy with pain. But she would not let the other get away, and would not give her time to think. The wind had been behind her, and still was. It shimmied past the two of them, and Clock turned from it so it assaulted her side. Well, at least it worked to numb whatever muscles were now protesting in pain. Her mind screamed at it to silence, telling the troubled jury that the judge was out until further notice and would not hear them out until after the battle. Pain be damned, she would deal with it later in the solace of her own mind. She waited the briefest of moments until the other turned from the wind which she would no doubt have to do, her stride a lamed movement. And then she was upon her, moving at an almost 40 degree angle to her, coming up along her side. Her aim was the lower body. Think chest and radius bones. Front end assault. She rose briefly, losing height in that her left leg just wasn’t cooperating. Chest be damned then, we’ll adjust and go for lower leg. Her chest smashed and pushed against the others front area as the right leg, the good leg, tore out. Hopefully the jabbing hoof would catch a leg, preferably the fetlock. Most of Clocks weight was transferred to the front legs to aid in power, and she aimed to land on her right foot before her left leg would come and aid in supporting her battered body. She stumbled forth, almost nose-diving into the cold ground as the left leg refused to support her for that moment. But she was a warm blood, and she was agile. She recovered in mere seconds with refusal to back off. She knew that her front end would not support her while her back legs kicked out, and so knew that anything to do with kicking was useless to her. And she knew that time was of the essence and would not let the other have the time to regroup. After her recovery from the slip she stalked down her prey. Blood had curdled on her side, stopped in the running by the cold and dangerous temperatures. Her breath misted as she drug it in jaggedly, filling the lungs that started to picket in protest. Assuming that degrees of damage had been done to the left side of her opponent, she switched and came at her from the right. Lets take one out of her book, and try this head on bit, though we’ll off center it a tad. Clock moved so she was directly facing the other for the briefest of seconds before moving off to her left (Artaxxas’ right) a half step. Her speed was not great enough to hinder agility, and if the other were to shy or balk she would simply follow. Should their shoulders collide, Artaxxa would be turned to face Clock. Seconds after point of impact her right foreleg (left following) left the ground to reach out and catch flesh, sinew, bone. For the briefest of seconds her weight had been pushed to her hinds (because of the push of impact) but it was all but thrust forwards as soon as she could manage. This time all of her weight was thrust into it, though Clock knew that she would pretty much end up on the ground afterwards, it didn’t matter. She struggled to reach anything. The knees would be nice, the cannon bone would do nice though. And she propelled down, taking whatever skin and flesh that happened to be under her hooves with her. She came to the ground, an audible crack laming her left front hoof. And it gave out, her knee brought down to the cold hard ground as she shook her head and grunted. Clock, a silent unknown one of Solira, had given it her best. It showed in her eyes and stance as she stumbled to her hooves once more, the right leg taking on the burden that used to be the lefts. ---…---…---...---...--- They call me Clock. I’m a mish mash, which really means my dam was a floozy and doesn’t remember who my father is. No matter. It’s been 5 years since I last cared about my so called family. Some say I’m a loner, but I prefer to think that I’m just really picky about who I associate with. I can appear cold and calculated, but I’m loyal to the end for those that I believe are worthy of it. I analyse things non-stop, I like to take my time, which sometimes causes others to be nervous, not knowing what I’m thinking and all that jazz. I like to think that’s part of my charm.