The scream rattles Fell. Normally, it wouldn’t, but after seeing Solomon on his deathbed, Fell is unsteady. He is confused by the emotions he feels, too many of them and too tangled together to identify. Part of it is the simple fact that he had not known death like this; part of it is his worry for Kohelet. As for his relationship with Solomon and what the King’s death means to him, however… Fell can’t even begin to know.

Dazed as he is, the black stallion starts at the sound of the scream. His response is mostly reflexive, not requiring Fell to make conscious decisions. He lifts his head, ears cupping forward, and blows harshly into the chilly autumn air. He can’t return the call, so he listens instead. When the second call comes crashing through the trees, Fell snaps out of his haze.

The Bay stallion surges into motion, hooves carving out pockets of soil as he claws forward from a standstill into a choppy canter. He can’t gallop through these denser parts of the forest, but he is so familiar with the territory that he doesn’t lose much speed for his slower gait. He races toward the source of the challenge, territorial anger swelling within him and blotting out all of his confusion. Fell begins to feel whole again as he tackles a tangible task; he doesn’t need to think about anything when he’s kicking an uninvited guest to the curb. There are no feelings to consider, only action.

He spots the intruder through the trees, and though he hits the brakes, Fell doesn’t commit to halting before a collision. He slows enough to avoid tossing himself right over the stranger, but if they don’t brace themselves or move, they are likely to still be toppled. As he draws closer, he sees that the outsider is female, and short enough that she might have remained upright while he tripped right over her, had he not slowed his pace. This observation does nothing to slow his approach any further than he was already planning, however.

Fell doesn’t bother to announce himself as he comes crashing into the clearing, assuming his raucous parting of the underbrush will be enough warning. He wastes no time with a response to her challenge, opting instead to leap immediately into her expectant jaws. She’s here for a fight, that much is obvious, and Fell is desperate to give her one. He crowds forward, expecting to crash into her with his chest unless she darts out of the way. He is blind with giddy rage, spitting mad, and his lips remain firmly pulled back from gaping teeth that seek perpetually to sink into her russet fur or grasp a chunk of flaxen mane.

He is not a strategic fighter; rather, his only strategy is to smother his opponent with such a frenzy of attacks that they cannot fit any kind of offense between defenses. It’s worked for him in the past, but his success relies heavily on pouring his entire self into the first few seconds of a battle. In this fight, since Fell is not pursuing a prize or a victory but rather the battle itself, his initial flurry of blows begins to wane rather quickly, before he exhausts himself. He pulls back just slightly to look at his opponent, yellow-gold eyes ablaze and fervorous.

Fell doesn’t know why this mare is here. He doesn’t care. He sticks his tongue between his teeth, taunting her.

stallion | marwari mutt | black | torn left ear | bay