Þoka’s nose wrinkles in a sneer as the larger mare rebukes her, but when Elvira lumbers closers the blue mare tries to backpedal. This is what you get for poking the bear, she laments as the black beast’s teeth close in a rough pinch on the flesh of her shoulder. “Ack! Woah woah woah!” Þoka cries as she’s hefted off her front legs and shaken like she weighs no more than a bit of dandelion fluff floating on the wind.
As soon as the other mare lets go Þoka scrambles backward, so when Elvira turns and bucks she is well out of range of those wide, heavy hooves. You idiot! she scolds herself, panting as she regards the other mare with laid-back ears, her eyes wide under her shaggy forelock. She’s big enough to kill you without breaking a sweat!
“All right, all right, woah,” she says again, and makes an effort to lift her ears and look non-threatening. “I’m sorry, all right? Geez.” The blue mare shakes herself out with a snort and turns her head to inspect the welt raised on her shoulder. Oh, how it burns beneath the skin. How big is that bruise going to be?
“Elvira, you said?” she squints as she attempts to remember what the mare had said about herself. Better not to fan this dragon’s fire; she could do some serious damage to the blue roan. “I’m Þoka. You haven’t run into anyone else like me, have you? Kind of a gray black, spot on her shoulder, pale mane and such. ‘Bout my size... though I suppose everyone’s small to you.” She can’t help herself, and shies away in case her remark earns another assault from the mare as she adds, “It’s a joke!” |