where wolf's ears are, Ivar wolf's teeth are near.
Excitement vibrates his inky black skin, he yearns to drive his teeth into the thick hide of the monochromatic stallion. The fear was thick in the air, it's taste, rancid on his tongue. His dark eyes remain glued to his opponent, as the beast thrashes around angrily. A smirk touches his lips as the stallion lunges at him, trying his damnedest to chase Ivar away. As the stallion lunges, Ivar's reflexes and instincts instantly go into overdrive. The muscles in his hindquarters uncoil, launching the inky stallion towards his opponent. A sickening thud resounds off of the trees as their bodies collide, muscle on muscle. Ivar's hooves dig into the earth, trying his best to keep from losing any ground to his opponent. Ivar's blunt teeth seek out any unguarded tendon, as he snaps at the monochromatic stallion's feathered leg. "Taste his blood on your tongue, Ivar. Go for his jugular." The voice hisses.
Ivar's ears remain buried thick within his mess of inky mane, he barely hears the approach of another. A bellow roars from between parted teeth as the stallions blunt teeth make contact with the muscles of his shoulders. He can feel the tear of his flesh as the stallions' teeth close and pinch his hide between them. Ivar's crimson blood stains the earth at his hooves but is soon mixed in with the torn up dirt and rocks. He snaps at the stallions' shoulder in hopes that one of his blows would yield blood in return.
Yes, please get me the hell out of here Ivar's ears appear from his thick mane long enough to hear the pale woman plead the second woman. "Fjandinn!" The voice curses. For a brief moment, the scuffling stops as his opponent launches away from him, to follow the women, as they disappear through the foliage. Without hesitation, Ivar pivots to follow, even with the stallion snapping his blunt teeth at him.
The pain in his shoulder is searing and red hot, he can feel the blood trickle down his inky black leg. Thick ears disappear into his mane as he follows at a gimping tölt. His hooves find the rhythm of his ancestral gait with ease, even with his handicap. Ivar slows for a brief moment as the meadow spreads out before him, it does not take long for his dark eyes to find the trio of horses. Anger burns within his chest, it fills him with a vibrating energy. His eyes narrow as he watches the monochromatic beast still insisting that the pale woman was his, a growl rumbles deep in his throat.
Dark eyes settle on defiant dunalino woman as she berates the stallion, her head held proudly on her arched neck. A smirk touches his inky lips, this woman was fierce, the fire of the Dreki burns within her soul. Ivar steps forward, blood pools at his hoof with each step. He stands at the edge of the group, facing his opponent. The stallion calls for a truce. "Now the bastarður wants a truce?" The voice scoffs. Ivar's dark eyes burn as he looks upon the stallion. It seems to Ivar that the stallion wants it all, when, it was not for him to have.
A single ear swivels toward the dunalino woman as she selflessly offers herself, in place of the pale woman. What would the stallion say in response to that? Ivar's dark eyes remain glued to the stallion. His dark tail snaps across his hocks, his blood still boils beneath his inky skin. He hungers for the taste of blood. The fenrir craves its salty, coppery taste on his tongue. He craves retribution.
Translation:
Dreki: dragon
bastarður: bastard
Icelandic - Smoky Black - Stallion - 14.2 hh - Dögun x Unknown
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