Weak. Dizzy. Lathered in sweat, stinging with cuts and gashes (her silver-pale coat a ghastly red in some places), and an area or two sure to bruise later on. Mariael wanted to keep fighting, for to give in was to admit defeat and it was nothing she’d ever done.
But how did a young mare who’d never once seen a fight truly expect to triumph over an older, more experienced mare? The youth could be so blinded by their egos and some, like Mariael, took more than good counsel to knock them down a peg or so.
As much as she wanted to continue the war, her instincts roared in her mind to stop before it was too late. She would be no good to the Bay if she were dead; she would be no good to Maziel if she were dead. With autumn fast approaching the weather would turn ugly very, very quick. A lame horse could not hope to survive through a winter on Tinuvel and Mariael knew this.
She’d only wished she’d landed a kick swift enough to lame the mare, this invader into Tinuvel.
With ears pinned, the young mare seethed at Jasiri, looking wilder than before with her hair lying haphazardly and a sharp contrast of red blood on her cheek. The wound was superficial and would heal with a small scar but, for now, it only heightened the desperately enraged look she wore. Her sides heaved with effort, the air pouring hot and hard from her mouth as she tried to calm the erratic pounding of her heart now that the battle had ceased.
“I will never bow to you.” She spat disrespectfully, her voice taut with the fire which consumed her. Mariael wasn’t certain if she was shaking because she was exhausted or if she were shaking because she was enraged. “No one in the Bay will ever bow to you. Outsiders like you come and go; the winter of Tinuvel will leave you dead by spring.”
The thought of the mare before her struggling amidst the blizzards and howling wind, of perhaps swimming during the storm to try to get to Crossing and drowning in the sea, invigorated the slash to Mariael’s confidence. Hotheaded as she was, it was clear the girl didn’t know when to back down. Later when she was alone and nursing her wounds she might reflect, she might crumble beneath the weight of it all, but for now it was only venom to leave her lips.
The pale threads of her tail flicked irritably at her hind and she lifted her head, feeling the ache in her shoulder from where Jasiri’s hooves had landed a considerable kick. She turned her head so she could look the mare in the eyes, defying her outright. “You are no queen of mine.”
Mariael moved back, attempting to hide the grimace which pulled at her lips as pain blossomed with each step.
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