[challenge] Krigare;

[Krigare]

His attack hits true, teeth bluntly clinging to the thick skin that covers the stallion's shoulder. While he has missed the other's wing (a pity) he has done something. His lips pull into a wicked grin, hooves searching for purchase upon the winter ground. The wind whips mercilessly at his dark tendrils, casting them into green hues. 

His sight is temporarily impaired. When he can see again, the other is bearing down upon him with monstrous talons. The black stallion is barely taller than Krigare (he stands at a mighty 16 hands) and when he strikes his talons shred the flesh at the hollow of Krigare's right shoulder. He lets out a scream, while the flesh is torn the pain is replaced with anger and the lust for victory. 

He is old and slower than the young beast that whips around to face him. What Krigare is met with is horrifying. Where the delicate features of a horses muzzle once resided, the twisted maul of a dragon now lay. His opponent lashes out at him with dagger-like incisors, but Krigare is not fast enough to evade his attacker. The teeth sink home, the blinding pain settling damn near his shoulder once more. 

He has nowhere to go, panic is blinding him.

breathe.

He remembers to breathe, as the stallion beneath him thrashes he moves for an ear. The larger stallion that had such a grip on his neck had lowered his height. And advantage Krigare would use to it's fullest. As the ebony man has his teeth latched into the lower right sector of Krigare's neck, he tries desperately to sink his blunt teeth into the other's left ear. If he were to complete this successfully he would pull. Maybe it would tear the ear, maybe it would just get him the hell off of his neck. 

Knowing the damage it will cause, knowing the pain he will go through for this, he jerks away. The flesh once caged by teeth is ripped from his neck. There is not much but it is enough to leave what will one day be an ugly reminder of this day. The right side of the great bay is falling numb. Freezing temperatures and rushing blood getting the better of him.

He is facing the left side of the stallion now. He cant help but laughs. What had Krigare done but wounded his opponent's shoulder? Left a bruise for the brat to remember him by? The boy is too close for Krigare to build up what momentum he has in his body, what little fight that is left within him. 

The stag is stuck between a rock and a hard place.

Coal colored hooves try to dig into the frozen grass beneath him, some just barely breaking through the hardened clay below. He ignores the throbbing pain in his right side, the blood trickling from his open wounds. If he could hit the other just hard enough, he may be able to knock him into the frozen earth. The ground below could certainly be hard enough to crush the other's damaged shoulder. 

He turns ever so slightly to the right to the left side of his body could slam into the other. All Krigare can do is hope that his strength would be enough to cause some fraction of the damage. When the motion is over he drags himself backward, the front of his body facing the other. He is bleeding, hot knives of white pain are shoved deep into the wounds of his neck and shoulder, his body begging him to just quit. 

Maybe he would lose, but that was okay. He was not afraid of the prospect, just meerely annoyed by it. Krigare gives a hulking sigh and awaits Castile's next move. Once more he becomes deeply aware of how cold it was. His body is shuddering with the mere act of breathing. His lungs feel as though there is a thick blanket of ice trapping them in place. He is gasping for air, clawing for the deep drags of icy oxygen around him.

Maybe this shit would be over soon.