Desert

The impact of his body against Rougaru's reverberated through him, shaking him to his very core. He was rewarded by the abrupt end of the silver stallion's scream of anger, a good sign that Solomon had managed to knock the wind out of him. He didn't know if it was the moderate success of the first attack or if the wolf had grown slow in his old age, but his hooves struck another solid blow across his shoulder and the fresh scent of blood (untainted by the seawater that had stemmed their earlier injuries) flooded the air.

The tobiano knew it was foolish to hesitate, to look, but he did anyways. He half halted and craned his neck to look back, searching to see how much of Rougaru's shoulder he had injured. The pause was enough to allow the old wolf to catch him again, and Sol could not dodge out of the way of that grey-speckled maw. Yellow-stained teeth caught purchase on the muscles across the Tinuvel King's back, scraping along their length so deeply that he could feel them raking across his vertebra, like a stick across a picket fence in the hand of a bored child. His muscles screamed in protest, and he could not stop the guttural sound of rage and pain that escaped him as the attack sent his spine into shock, making his hind legs tingle and their pace slow.

He shied away instinctively, trying to lower his back out of reach. A useless attempt to avoid the pain. He couldn't make himself any shorter, any more than Rougaru could make himself taller. Abandoning that plan, he ducked his head down and over, toward Rougaru's chest and then slowed abruptly down in the hopes that his opponent would continue moving forward. When he believed that Rougaru's head and neck were directly above his own, he pushed off with both front feet in a rear that would - if he had any luck at all - send all of his body weight upward against Rougaru's chin in a snappish, quick movement.

Their necks were meant to bend downward, never upward.

If he got supremely lucky, he might snap Rougaru's neck but he doubted that. If Rougaru already had his neck half curled toward his own chest to attack Sol's spine, he would likely have some muscle strength to use to fight against the momentum. But even a jaw forcibly closed could cut off a tongue or disorient an opponent, and Solomon needed every advantage he could get.

He had already been extremely lucky this battle. Uncharacteristically so. He had thought - in the beginning - that it had been because of his conviction, but it dawned on him that Rougaru had only pressed for one retaliatory attack. And while it had been devastating, it lacked the ferocity they normally met each other with. There was no reason for Rougaru to take it easy on him, and yet Solomon couldn't escape the growing feeling that he was doing just that.

But why?

The obvious answer was that it was some sort of ploy to draw him in, wear him out so that a secondary enemy could sweep in and finish the job once he was weakened. But that seemed unlike Rougaru. As much as the wolf liked to play games, it seemed unlike him to use himself as bait. If that had been the play, then surely the other attacker would have been the lure, and Rougaru the one to finish it all.

But what if this wasn't an attempt to finish Solomon off, and was, instead, a way to end things?

Suddenly things began to click into place. The selection of Cicek from the herd, the mare he had sworn to protect from Rougaru. His victory (uncommon in itself) in the Cove. The lack of surprise when he had issued his challenge on the Desert shore. The way he was pulling his punches.

This was an end game alright, but not because Solomon wanted it to end.

As outlandish as that idea was, Solomon didn't have the time to wrestle with other theories, nor to allow the sudden influx of doubt to weaken his resolve. They were mid-fight, and while the possibility that he could be wrong existed (that another enemy lurked just out of sight), Sol could not afford the luxury of taking it easy or drawing it out. Of reconsidering his role in their story.

Without hesitation, he began looking for a window, and when it opened, he surged forward, jaws open, aiming for his throat.

Solomon