Posted by Slv. Voraer on February 15, 2009, 4:22 pm, in reply to "LORD'S GOING TO GET US BACK [VORAER]" The autumn chill twisted uselessly around the inferno stained stallion. His fire snapped eagerly at the chill, rumbling within him restlessly as he moved through the Krieg with a heavy trot, searching, always searching for someone worthy to expend his time and energy upon. He held his blazed head low so he could keep an eye on the ground which threatened to slip so comically beneath him. The trot kept him more balanced than other faster gaits, still providing his muscles the chance to stretch where a meager walk would not. Regardless Voraer was weary of the footing, being a horse of bulky build; while his breed was renowned for its agility Voraer had never specialized in ballet in particular.
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He heard her, as she said he would. His fire roared to life within him the second it felt the pulsing waves of her earth. As he turned his gray eyes to her, head snapping around and motion sliding to a halt – then he saw her. She burst through the mist in some epic movie type entrance that would have made Hollywood proud. Voraer might have taken longer to admire the theatrics of it all except she had that expression on her face that said she was going to #### him up. A challenging bellow resonated from his chest cavity as Voraer lowered his head, steel eyes narrowing dangerously as ears slid beneath the sea of red that was his tangled, short mane. Body tensed and muscles coiled and he surged forward to meet her, undaunted or maybe just stupid. They collided audibly, and the force of impact was visible as the shockwaves shivered and quivered through supple regions of Voraer’s copper body. It was fortunate for Voraer that he used his counter in such a manner as ramming into her the same time she was pouncing at him. It helped lessen the blow her momentum would have given to increase the power of her attack, and it was likely it altered her balance which also withdrew some of the force. But above all else, it helped to redirect the strike to a less vital area as the ever needed joints, though really Voraer couldn’t take so much credit for that, the slick ground certainly helped twist his body, his haunches slipping beneath him, his weight leaning into her; without her there he probably would have fallen truthfully.
But it still hurt, because she still landed a blow. There was an audible clank as her solid hooves connected with his more sturdy, thicker cannon bone on his left foreleg. And then quieter, less audible, the splintering of said bone as a hairline fracture crawled along the front portion of the bone. Her aim had fallen beneath his knee as a combination of his slipping haunches causing him to lift his forehand slightly to compensate, and then the overall effect of their bodies hitting swerved both target and weapon. But the fracture, Voraer didn’t feel that yet. He was too busy seething over the furious burn of the shredded skin and hair, a balded trail from the point of impact almost to his cornet band. It was an effect that wouldn’t hinder him nearly as much, but it smarted pathetically, his nerves a livewire of pain.
As they disengaged and he bore weight on his injured left, he felt the splitting agony of the fracture. As if he’d stepped into acid he jerked his weight off the leg, cursing beneath his breath, gritting his teeth in irritation at the hindrance. His rage, his never-ending rage and longing for revenge on any who bested him, who injured him; that drove him forward, fueled on by the aggressive drive of his fire. Get her, get here its sizzling flames groaned to him, let me eat her skin it begged of him. He would gladly oblige. So he turned with her, trying to arc around to her left as she moved to pass by his right. He was slower than he would have been, less agile because his fractured forelimb cried in pain with even the lightest use, but he could easily shrug more weight onto his right side; lean more onto his haunches as he moved.
It was because of his urge to slip up beside her on the left, because of his anger to make her bleed too, that he saved his barrel from the forceful swing of her hind end. He watched, wide eyed, as her hooves lifted from the earth and shot out towards him. He cringed, knowing the blowing force he would soon feel. It was impossible to evade completely, she was quick with it, well placed, but it sunk into the meaty area of his right haunch, near his pelvis region and just clipping the sea of nerves that his flank area horded. It was powerful enough to knock his stride, throwing his hind end to the left, swinging it more behind him, which in turn caused a stumble onto his forehand for support to keep his balance. At once his fractured leg howled and his head flung wildly into the clouded sky, eyes rolling with the consuming pain, a fire unlike the fire he harnessed; it pulsed through his left fore, it flared and crawled and wriggled along the shuddering spasms that was the muscle of his right haunch. It was deep bruising, that greatly restricted the length he could not extend his hind. And while his haunch sang with the pain and the fury, it was more tolerable than that earth shattering torment of the split bone.
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