Desert

Nyimara would be pissed. Livid even, but the wolf has always danced to the beat of his own drum. The silver witch’s plans, while admirable, were not his own. She would have to find her own way without the chains that bind them. It would be the final lesson a father could bestow upon his child. This was where their paths forked away.

The fates had allowed both stallions to linger on this earth far longer than they deserved and the old wolf was determined that he would not find himself facing the same downfall as Warsaw. He would not dwindle into nothingness, finding death only after sickness and injury had stolen what remained of his life blood. Upon the trickling blood of the old gray stallion, Rougaru swore to the heavens and their hidden gods that he would never fall in the same manner. What better way to make that promise a reality than to provoke his sworn enemy for a final time.

He had thought long and hard about what mare in the ice king’s large herd would best strike the ire of Solomon. The mare he settles on is the same golden girl that had born his own child through the haze of her fever and lust. ’solomon…’ she had called him. Her touch is gentle and hungry. The flutter of her glassy eyes would have sent any other stallion searching desperately for a healer or the stallion she called for…. But not the wolf. The wolf had gladly taken what didn't belong to him and relished at the sight of her swollen belly in the months that followed her recovery. She had run to Solomon the day the painted stallion had come for her. Half heartedly, he put up some effort in her defense if only for appearance sake. However it had been with sick pleasure that he watched the two figures retreat over the foam capped waves. In the months that followed, rumors flew of her fear and Solomon’s outrage. Like a sly fox he listened to stories told around the islands of how she spent many a night waking wide-eyed and breathless. Even without mention, Rougaru could only imagine Solomon’s taunt jawline and hard eyes as he attempted to soothe the golden flower. Cicek… yes. A threat to Cicek would provoke him and draw him away from the well guarded castle of ice and snow he had built for himself. The wolf would draw him away from the Cove and all that he held dear. It was the only way that this would all end on his own terms.

The sting of scraped flesh is a reminder of his half-assed attempt to draw Cicek away from the thick tangle of herd mares in the Cove. He had been careful to avoid the worst of the ice king’s flailing legs and gnashing teeth but even so, the salt water reminded him that he was not invulnerable. The distance between the islands somehow felt greater to him now, aged and past the years of his prime. Where once he might have swam the length of the islands without much exhaustion. Now, his lungs screamed as the proud wolf dragged himself from the surf and once more onto the malleable desert beach. Expectant. That was the best way to describe him as his thickly muscled neck curls back to send his keen emerald gaze back across the glittering seas.

There. Just beyond the white capped waves that marked the shallow reef surrounding Salem, the bobbing head of Solomon could be seen. ’No doubt equally as determined.’ the wolf snickers into his ears. Rougaru bent back his ears and pressed together his lips, blowing out a strong, solid breath in an effort to slow his breathing and the rapid staccato of his heartbeat.

With a flick of his water-logged tail, long legs pick up a high stepping trot further inland where his herd stood loosely grazing not far from the place he had left them. Solomon was coming, this much he knew. Call it pride or foolishness but the beast did not bother standing on the shoreline and waiting for his opponent to arrive. Regardless of this, Rougaru continued on, ignoring the stinging throb in his shoulder as the anticipation for battle weighs down around his shoulders. It was time.

Ears fall backwards as Solomon’s hoarse challenge screams into the air. Proudly he lifts his own head as a feral scream retaliates in response from his own lungs. He takes a few carefully measured steps forward, testing the play of the sandy earth beneath his hooves. He was ready, or so he told himself.

What he was not prepared for, was the direction from which Solomon appeared. The wolf had all but expected him to prance forward down the same well worn pathway between the dunes that he himself had taken. He had been careful to leave a well marked path for just that purpose. He had planned this encounter so many times in his head and aways, Solomon approached between the Dunes to face an expectant and waiting wolf.

Waiting was the worst part. Neither he nor the wolf were very patient creatures. When Solomon does not appear where the beast expects, he cannot help but to take a few cautionary steps forward, peeking between the hills of sand to the beach beyond. Had he turned tail so quickly? Had he fled? Surely even he was not so weak…. Right?

And then he appears. In a flurry of spraying sand, the ice king appears almost before the old wolf can react. He had not expected the large stallion to climb the Dunes with such an obvious path between them nor did he expect him to use them to his advantage. The desert landscape was supposed to be HIS home advantage and here he was being taken by surprise by his enemy! A scream of frustration, anger and surprise boils from his throat as the only thing he can do is shift the weight of his body and turn his shoulder. He had no choice but to allow his shoulder to accept the brunt of the assault and only hoped that Solmon’s forward motion would be enough to propel him into a more suitable offensive position. THUD! Like the occasional tremors that shook the islands, the weight of Solomon’s body slams into his shoulder and robs the air from his lungs, cutting off the scream as it leaves his throat. As he had hoped, the painted stallion’s forward motion spins him in the direction of Solomon. ’This will end here!’ the beast’s words resound in his bent ears as he struggles to gather himself to follow.

FLASH! His eyes are only briefly able to register the painted stallion’s flailing hooves in time. A grunt and pop of his shoulder made audible his pain as the silver bay stallion digs his forelimbs into the ground with a spray of sand. Thickly muscled neck jerks gracelessly upwards as he attempts to hold his head out of reach of the flying hooves. The action leaves his neck and chest vulnerable to the attack. Pain like the white hot fires of lightning, sear through the thin hairs of his dark coat and pierce the flesh beneath. Even without stopping to look, Rougaru can feel the hot trickle of his own blood as it wove a path down the curve of his shoulder and trickled down his hoof.

Adrenaline and anger fused into one as limping, the beast does not give his opponent an opportunity to regroup and prepare. Muscles shift once more as he gathers his hind limbs beneath him and lunges forward, trying to close the distance between himself and Solomon in as singular a leap as possible. Long neck stretches out as he aims his teeth for the exposed point of Solomon’s withers, hoping to pinch the nerves or even sever his spine with a single bite if the gods were truly favoring him.