The Plains

(you speak to me in riddles and you speak to me in rhymes;
my body aches to breathe your breath, your words keep me alive.)

Excitement for the gladiator competition had been building inside the red mare since she’d been chosen as one of the competitors from the Deserts. Eiffel hadn’t known anything about how the fights would take place or where, but she did know about two of the other entrants: Chain and One from the Chamber. Her captivity there had taken a toll on her body and wings, but some sort of magic seems to have combed and bathed her clean upon entering the Plains. No sooner has she crossed the boundaries does her coat gleam again in the light of the sun, beautiful and undeniably crimson red. Her mane and tail are no longer tangled or clotted with mud and neither are her limbs; everything about her is slick, even her wingless shoulders.

The sensation is absurd at first and she wonders how they expect her to move right without their counter-balance on her back. She’s met plenty of horses without wings of their own but somehow she’d never wondered at their differences – now she’s forced to rely more on her instincts and reflexes. It takes her some time to get over the lack of muscles there to flex, but after trotting to join the growing number of horses around the magical fighting pit she becomes more and more accustomed to not having them there. It becomes apparent to Eiffel that wings don’t really do much at all in the way of balance and movement and she wonders now if maybe she would have been better off without them all along. Still, she knows with some confidence that Bunny will return all their traits to them – a quick glance around reveals a few other familiar faces missing similar things like wings or horns.

The mare who is conducting the games announces the rules, and Eiffel listens intently while her eyes drift to see who has gathered to watch the sport. She doesn’t recognize many of the spectators, but as she enters the ring with the other fighters she hears her name being called on young voices. She doesn’t recognize Wardance’s children, having never met them, and doesn’t know about Graceling’s relationship with Anleifr, but she’s glad for the support nonetheless. When she spots the trio of young horses, two of them with wings and the smallest without any mark of magic, she smiles brightly and tries to raise a wing in greeting to them...before she remembers she doesn’t have that ability for the time being. It’s that realization that brings her attention back to those around her, separating into their fighting pairs, and she realizes with a sick kick against whom she will be fighting.


Lo and behold, she’s faced with the shadowy black figure who has caused much of her distress over the past several months. Chain, in all his dark glory, is here with her in the pit of fighters and Eiffel gathers a deep breath when it’s announced that she will be moving first against him. Two attacks, four total by the end of this round, and she doesn’t have her wings to aid her – it makes her a little frustrated that she won’t get to show him the true strength of the things he had so casually threatened to take from her. Instead though, she’ll have to rely on showing him everything else she has hidden beneath her scarlet façade.

As the metaphorical gunshot is fired to begin the metaphorical race, Eiffel’s muscles buzz with adrenaline and lingering anger toward the horse that has disrupted her life. His coat gleams brighter than hers in the bright sunlight from above. They hadn’t landed a shady part of the ring but were instead closer to the outside, near the spectators’ grounds, but there is still plenty of room for them both to move. She’s used to the sun on her back thanks to the Deserts and it only fuels her energy even more so that she crowhops forward into a speedy canter to try and accommodate some of her rushing adrenaline.

She can’t know if Chain will move or not, but she runs until she can position herself at his left flank. Adjusting her speed to match with his as accurately as she can, be it standing still or galloping full speed, the sorrel mare reaches her head out with her ears flattened and her nostrils flared to bite at the curve of his gaskin and flank. She hopes her teeth will land somewhere on the softer skin around the span of his hip and at the least draw some hair from his hide if not injure him more thoroughly to draw blood. It won’t be a very debilitating wound whatever the outcome, but she moves based on her hatred of the coal-colored thief.

Her next attack is based more on fighting as she does want to try and cause him some sort of handicap. Eiffel moves until she’s facing Chain again, standing no more than three yards away from him. Her ears are still turned back as she lifts her head a little higher and closes the distance between them to just a few feet (unless he closes it for her). From here she rears up and lashes out with her forelegs – anything from his head to his chest, neck, or shoulders could be injured depending on his reaction. She honestly hopes he stands and fights, however, because she wants some closure with her sparking fury toward him. It seethes beneath her skin and barely hides in the gray irises of her eyes.

eiffel / / ruby child of the deserts