Sure enough, Abraxas's rival had claimed his easy win and was already loping back, golden legs flashing in fluid, prideful movement. A touch of embarrassment flamed Brax's champagne cheeks at the other's taunting, and his eyes darted back to the driftwood log that lay so tantalizingly near, just a few strides away. He blew out of his nostrils heavily. Perhaps he could limp with three legs—

"Hey! Don't—" he said as the other stallion prodded his bum leg. Thankfully the light touch was painless, but his ears still lanced back atop his silvery mane as his rival moved toward his flank. The sharp pinch that followed earned a swift cow kick from Abraxas, briefly forcing his weight back onto the injured hoof. "Bro, quit it—ahh!" he snapped, his words twisting into a cry of pain.

When he lifted his hoof this time, there was the slightest trickle of red against the brown cake of mud, but the striped shard of shell had snapped, and a large piece lay harmless in the wet sand. There must still have been a small piece buried in the frog of his foot, though, because testing his weight still resulted in a sharp lightning bolt up into his fetlock.

Abraxas sighed. What a great first impression, eh? Shame and anger burned in his chest even as he began limping toward the log, while the surf lapped at his three remaining good feet. Once there, he stretched downward and ripped off a dry, spindly branch with his teeth and, with a great arc of movement, threw it vaguely back in his rival's direction.

"Stupid thing," he spat, as though it were all the log's fault. He turned to smolder at the other stallion, all his good humor gone. His ears were still twisted backward and his silver tail lashed at his flanks, though there were no flies to be dispersed. "What's your name, anyway? I should probably welcome you to the Brotherhood, I guess."