The Plains
Major battles may often take place in this land.
scribbled out the truth with their lies
IP: 96.52.20.178
Posted on May 13, 2011 at 21:56:31 by snake
As if to spite his previous thoughts that his participation in the competition was in vain, Texas and Daintre appeared in the crowds. However, the stallion did not see them; his focus was on the battle at hand, not on those that arrived late to witness the event. Their shouts of encouragement fell on deaf ears, for his attention was fixated solely on the woman he opposed. Even if he had noticed, it wouldn't have matter; while having the king's praise might have boosted his confidence, in the end their empty compliments and cheers would not provide him the edge in the competition. It was all up to him, and him alone.
The stallion could not believe the game the mare was playing. His hoof had made contact with her skin, drawing blood, yet for all the pain it might have caused she squealed like a girl - she was a girl, but that was of no consequence - and began doing what Snake liked the least about women: talking. He would have rolled his colorblind eyes if they did not watch her like a hawk, but settled for a sharp snort of distaste. He prayed that she would keep her mouth shut.
He felt his second attack graze her only barely, and inwardly he cursed himself for not having made a more direct hit. His self-berating did not last long though, for he saw her advance, looming over his left side in a rear. He was scrambling away at that point, gathering his forehand from where it had been rooted from his buck, galloping as quickly as he could forward and away to avoid her hooves down on his withers. A crack to his spine could be fatal, and he did not want to lose his life to a mare.
He saved his spine only to put his hindquarters into the fray. Her hooves - especially that right hoof that was closer to his side - struck his rear, making the superficial gluteal on the upper-left side of his hindquarters scream in pain. There was no blood to prove the blow as they separated, but he could feel the bruise begin forming in the fibrous tissue beneath the skin. When his hip flexed with each stride, he gritted his teeth; his muscle ached from the blow. She moved away from him in just the same fashion that he galloped away from her, giving him the time to re-collect.
She cooed to the audience, and Snake could not suppress the growl that rose in her throat. Was she mocking him? Was this a game to her? "You couldn't if you tried, mare!" he yelled back at her, spitting out the word 'mare' as if it were a foul leaf that he had made the mistake in eating. Her feminist display made him sick and angry. The competition was not for her to flaunt herself and use it to win the crowd's favor; only skill and strength and strategy were to win someone the leading prize here.
His eyes followed her as she quickly circled him and ran at the same area that she had just attacked, as if she wanted to completely destroy his rear left side. But instead she aimed for his armpit, which was the first mistake in his books. She should have tried for his midsection instead, for when she kicked out towards his forehand, the black reared up high.
The pain in his hindquarters hindered the stallion though, and where he would have escape her completely without his injury, her hooves found his skin. His uneasy rear had saved her the blow to his shoulder, and bringing up his forelegs in the action had saved his armpit and a life-threatening cut, but her hooves still grazed the area on the underside of his mid-section between his armpits, the perfect angle allowing for the unshod edges of her hooves to draw his blood from beneath the fur. He winced, but used his daunting positioning to launch a counterattack in the same moment.
He had reared when she bucked, so at that very instance that her hindlegs - after cutting his underside - were being drawn back down to the ground, Snake twisted his raised forehand to the slight left and brought his own hooves down on her retreating hindquarters. Evasion might have been easy for her at that point due to the fact that she was already in motion, but there was still a high probability of at least a glancing blow due to her proximity and the split-second reflexes in which he countered her.
Her hindquarters were his target, from the top of her hip at the sacral vertebrae on her back to the base of her tail. The angle in which she had bucked at and the angle at which he threw his weight down allowed him direct positioning over top of her, allowing for the possibility of hitting that sacral vertebrae, possibly cracking the bones if the hit were so powerful, or perhaps just crushing the valuable bones, causing pain among a wide variety of things. The spine was a strange thing, affecting things in every portion of the body due to the interconnection of the spinal cord. For all he knew, a hit upon those bones might just give her a severe headache.
But surely she was faster than that, shifting his impact further down on her hindquarters, where the thin but strong gluteal fascia tissue was draped over the croup. The deep middle gluteal muscle laid higher on her rear than the deep gluteal, but an injury or bruising to either of them would cause Jadis similar pain that Snake was in, and make it more difficult for her extend her hip or abduct her hindleg. Or if she was even quicker, and his hooves only half-hit the semitendinosus or biceps femoris alongside her tail, the rotation of her hindlegs might become difficult, and she would find that flexing her stifle or extending her hocks or hips would cause a sharp discomfort.
His chest was heaving now as he drew in quick, angry breaths. "Like a hole in the head!" he shot back, not allowing her to simply stand around and wait for him anymore than a few moments before he barreled off through the cloud of dust after her for his second attack. They were face-to-face for the time, the few lengths between them quickly disappearing as the sweaty stallion galloped directly at her.
A single length between them, he swung out left so that his straight-line approach was curved. This allowed his right lead to dominate - his left hindleg still smarted - so that the single length between them had the best momentum - the strength of his good lead - behind it. Instead of rearing up or bucking or turning when he neared her at his 45 degree angle, he continued to charge straight for her mid-section: not her forehand, not her hindquarters, but right towards her barrel. This angle would give her less of a chance to completely evade him, for even if she moved forwards or backwards, unless she was speedy he would still hit some part of her. "I want you dead!" he snarled at her.
It was then that he went to slam into her, his right shoulder towards the left side of her barrel. Such a forceful impact of his entire weight against her would surely bruise, if not break ribs, or possibly topple her or make her stumble if she had not been on her guard. If she were to rear up, that would disturb her balance even further, making it easier for him to topple her to the ground and then trample her. Her best chances were either to put herself in reverse, meeting the brunt of his shoulder with her own bony, muscular shoulder. It would be painful for both of them and turn into a match of weight-against-weight, bruising both of their biceps brachii, deltoids, brachialis and triceps brachii in the action. At least that way, they would both be limping away on a lame forehand.
Or she could have ran forward much like he had previously, focusing his ramming power on her left hip. The bone was thick there, but the muscle was still a viable target. The deep gluteal and middle gluteal muscles were in his range again, along with the quadrutus femoris and quadriceps femoris further down on her hip towards the leg that would affect movement in that hip and stifle once again. It was a hilarious coincidence that his attacks seemed so focus around her hindquarters - it wasn't even breeding season!
He continued to charge past then, eager to get away from her. He smirked and sneered. Despite how he loved to play mind games, he had been surprisingly humble at the start of the match, but no more. Between heavy breaths, the sweat-soaked, bloodstained stallion mocked, "I think it's you who wants me, mare. Why else would you so willingly lose?" If she wanted to make it entertaining, then the dapple gray would have to parry his verbal blows as well as his physical ones.
Replies:
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