The Plains

Although Pevensie thinks that legs are brittle, fragile as glass, the fact remains they can withstand more than just a kick from a horse smaller bigger than their opponent. Especially when Pevensie tried to rear and snap at Björk while she herself appeared to be in some sort of jump before her actual attack. It seems unlikely for a horse to maneuver themselves that easily this way. Björk, obviously aware of Pevensie, had room enough to move to her right as there were no obstacles to block her way. Therefore it seems unlikely for Pevensie to claim Björk had more of a risk kicking back, considering the fact that Pevensie couldn’t stay in the air forever. But of course this is but mere speculation.

After Bjork’s previous attack she then gallops smoothly, mirroring all of Pevensie’s moves. When the mare moves to the right Björk simply follows her. If she moves to the left Björk makes sure to stay close as well. Unlike Pevensie Björk does not rely on ‘intermissions’. Neither does she take much interest in bystanders as they’re a waste of precious time. No one would doze off during such a battle where mercy is unheard of. Björk is utterly surprised by the sandy mare’s ignorance in battle. Althoug Björk is neither experienced her mother taught her very well. All she knows is that her mother is there, watching. She does not need to exchange glances for the trophy-child knows her mother will not acknowledge it.

When Pevensie then finally charges again my darling chuckles. Her morbid expression remains the same as she listens to the girl and her ignorant words. Björk feels no urge to prance around like Pevensie, spectators or not. The fact remains that deeds achieve more than just words, carelessly uttered to a crowd of vultures, awaiting the bloodbath.

The dull words cross Björk’s mind as she wonders whether or not Pevensie will keep her promise. Real injuries she says, but will she oblige? Thus far she’s barely been able to touch my Björk at all. Until now Björk has had many opportunities to attack the mare without any trouble, although this would be too easy. Björk likes a challenge after all.
Then when Pevensie finally gallops toward Björk she again laughs, forming her lips to form speech. “I’m glad you’ve finally found time for me instead of your, eh, fans,” she says solemnly, “how fortunate I am.”

Björk allows the mare to come closer as she continues her galloping pace. The Konik then utters something and Björk would almost roll her eyes if she could. “How am I selfish when you can’t even touch me,” she purrs delicately in high soprano. “Perhaps it’s desperation I sense instead.” She then laughs as she speeds herself up, staying ahead of Pevensie like the thrill of a cat and mouse game. Björk is entertained, definitely, for she likes to play with her prey before she consumes them.
As much as she then likes to continue her charade though, she knows it has to end. Then again she allows Pevensie to draw near but obviously not nearly as much as Pevensie would dream she could aim for.

Pevensie attempts to draw parallel to Björk and whether she’d come fast or slow it’d hardly matter. Björk is a moving target, with her much more agile legs perfectly able outrun a mere Konik if she wants to. Perhaps Pevensie is under the delusion she’s some kind of super horse, although Björk highly doubts that. It is neither cowardice to dodge a bullet to prevent yourself from getting serious damage, Björk would rather say it’s intelligence.

Then finally Pevensie makes her move, rearing(?) toward a moving Björk. With the little space Pevensie claims she had for this move it is unlikely she had room to outstretch her front legs, if not at all. While Björk is also remotely taller than the Konik it must take more effort to land on top of my darling Björk. Therefore Björk only assumes she is not going for a rear. Since Pevensie is constantly trying to bite Björk she figures this won’t be any different, and she is right. She feels how Pevensie’s teeth grasp into her neck. Björk has little time to shake her off and in response bucks upward in hopes of Pevensie losing her grasp, (especially when she’s already unstable due to Björk’s constant movement). Björk being taller is also a very depending factor here, as she’d only become taller, even for a moment. Of course she has no saying over how Pevensie will cope with this but let’s depend on gravity, shall we. All Björk knows is that Pevensie should consider herself lucky because her hopes of locking Björk into submission by brushing Björk’s back with just her neck would have be doubtful.

Before she comes down she then feels a knee hit her ribcage and she grunts in response. It appears as if Pevensie had attempted to scrape at her legs but failed. Björk is not impressed with Pevensie’s ideas as she must have realized she’d have little to no space to fling her leg at those of Björk’s. As well as the lack of strength due to the narrow distance. Sadly she has little time to ponder for when she comes down she again kicks out, aiming directly at Pevensie.

For a moment Björk expects the crowd to respond with emotions, especially those of the Falls. She doesn’t seem to hear the spectators anyway for they are too far in the midst of the vacant space. All Björk sees are trees and mossy rocks before she turns to face Pevensie. The dust surrounds them as they feed on each other’s energy. She parades her swift feet as they drum the ground in an acoustic rhythm.
She faces the mare then, her eyes wild with bloodlust. “Oh my,” she exclaims dramatically, “it seems you’ve finally managed to tickle me.” Having said that she turns away from the Konik contently. Björk then thinks back of her kick aimed at Pevensie, and the damage it would do when hit. Since Björk did not have much time to consider where to aim she simply struck out again, hoping to hit somewhere at all. All she saw was that the sandy mare was somewhere near left side, where she tried to cling to Björk’s whither. Björk is content though, for she has not suffered grave damage. She also knows that somewhere in the crowd there is one proud spectator, watching in delight. And that, that is all she aims for. Victory, in the name of the Valley.