Posted by Slv. Voraer on February 4, 2009, 2:11 am, in reply to "aww, you talk as if I cared! --" He came. Voraer knew he would. The battlefield is a delicately woven, brutal expression of dance moves. As Voraer moved away, it was only natural for Alerion to step in, keeping the flow, the momentum, the suspense for the crowd who’d paid good money to see the physical display of beauty at its finest, red and rough.
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This is why Voraer has faced away from him. It hinders his vision, though the wind has already tossed that out the window; but it keeps a horse’s deadliest weapon pointed towards the advisory. It’s so natural to lash out with the hind end, so crippling… Alerion attacks it directly. Voraer is already moving forward already intent to keep away from the next display of the dance; Alerion had taken the stage and Voraer could simply watch and move about him. It was all that kept his heels from flying as Voraer felt the driving force of Alerion’s hooves, like a hot blade of steel cutting into the sensitive nerves and ligaments cuddled up beneath the point of his hock. Voraer’s bone rang with the sound of pain, and his nerves caught on a fire of agony that felt hotter than any flame Voraer had ever had lick within him. A disgruntled cry warbled from his lips as he stumbled forward, his injured right hind giving beneath the impact of hitting the earth (having been in flight when struck, it had only the choice to go down and complete the stride).
This slowed Voraer, teased his reactions away from the work desk, and clouded his senses with only the dry, brittle crunch of fury. Torn and ripped the small, forgotten strings that make the body tick, the fibers holding muscle and bone and skin together – how they hindered the chestnut stallion when he demanded the use of his leg. How furiously they rebelled to hold weight, to move and function with as much luxury of movement as only seconds before. The leg was practically useless now in this freshly wounded state. It offered Alerion the chance to draw closer to his fellow herd mate to make the second blow.
The wind roared. Voraer was blinded by more than it, as pain washed over him in black waves; but his fire, ever vigilant, every violent – it stirred as it felt Alerion’s more advanced flames coming in, preparing for the assault. Voraer listened to his element, moving to his left. Suddenly there is a leg blocking his movement, a chest pressed by his shoulder. Voraer detonates, his fire rampaging at the block. Teeth snapping in irritation the chestnut moves to burst forward, shoving against Alerion, right hind quivering while his left worked all the harder for the fault. It was not enough o escape, but it altered Alerion’s aim.
Hoof found the meaty part of the forearm, scraping down the hair until buttons of blood were drawn and smeared. But rather than angle towards the knee, Voraer’s forward momentum sent the hoof sliding off below his elbow in a more harmless fashion. The muscle and tissue beneath the serrated skin began to fill with blood as its bruising burst inner blood vessels, discoloring the skin as it began to swell and throb. But Alerion’s teeth, gripping at the region now more behind Voraer’s withers, even harder to seize, distracted Voraer from the gaining pain in his foreleg. Voraer threw his head up instinctively as the dentures dug into the nerves near the spine, managing only a brief, seizing pinch and the shave of a bit of hair and dust. And then Alerion had landed, Voraer had broken forward, his right side locking with pain the instant the injured limbs struck the earth, causing Voraer to slow and halt and limp home.
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