Meadow

Maraigh’s flaming gaze bored holes into Faolain as the scarred mare stared her down. She usually had no problem maintaining eye contact—to the point that it was sometimes unsettling for others—but now she found herself struggling not to look away. Maraigh’s gaze was acid, brutal and intense. Faolain had to force herself to look.

Neither of them moved for a few moments. Each was waiting for the other to strike, but Maraigh seemed to be inviting Faolain in. Her voice was taunting, and her head snaked low as she swayed in anticipation. Faolain pawed the ground and then pivoted her hindquarters toward the scarred mare, bucking high and striking out with her hind legs in a vicious kick aimed at Maraigh’s head. She kicked out twice before spinning once again to get a look at the damage. The other mare was already battered from Yazheen’s blows, and Faolain could not tell which bloody marks had been gifted by the arabian and which were from herself. She gave a loud snort, steam bellowing from her flared, delicate nostrils.

She still said nothing as she waited for Maraigh to retaliate. Faolain circled the other mare, snaking her own head low, her feet dancing lightly through the snow as she prepared to dart out of the way should a strike be sent toward her. She knew she could not pack a necessarily heavy punch, but she was quick, and the blows from her hind hooves should have still stung, though she was unaware of Maraigh’s indifference to pain.

Though it did not concern her, Faolain’s thoughts kept returning to the other mare’s threats to Koala and her unborn child. Though threats of any nature normally did not phase her, she had never heard threats like that, especially in the manner in which they had been delivered. Faolain was not sure if she admired the acid of Maraigh’s cruelty, or found it to be shameful. It was certainly impressive. She wondered if it was an act or if the snake-like mare actually craved violence to such an extent that she would hunt down a mother and her infant. It wasn’t an event Faolain was interested in stopping, or even pursuing; she didn’t particularly care what happened to any of the mares beyond their interaction here. It was none of her business. Still, she had to admit that the thrill of fighting was intoxicating, and she thought that this practice was going to be useful. She intended to fight for territory at some point, and if she could use Maraigh as a punching bag to gain the experience she needed before her challenge, it would make her life easier. Maybe she could find Maraigh again, for another spar.

She snorted once more and stamped one spindly black leg against the frozen ground. "Your turn," she snarled.

ooc: you can land hits on Faolain as well! She’s diggin the practice lol

FAOLAIN