06-25-2017, 07:03 PM
 i'll use you as a makeshift gauge of how much to give and how much to take There is a thrill in the air, and it slips into Ivar with each breath he takes. It grows stronger with each rapid beat of his heart and the steady pound of his pale hooves as he circles the edges of the ring. Despite his enthusiasm, he is no fool. He is searching for something, that much is clear with the way his brown eyes cast across the sandy pit. There. He’s found it. With a sharp squeal, the piebald colt throws himself into the battlefield. His target is clear: Castile. The boy is a match in both color and size; they are equals and well-paired. Ivar has no intention of seriously harming his fellow prince, and he trusts the other boy feels much the same. This is a mock, a practice, Ivar’s first experience on the battle field. He races forward, skidding to a halt a few feet from Castile’s left shoulder. Rearing up on his hind legs, he stretches forward, hoping for a hit somewhere along Castile’s neck or shoulder. |