Ah, and

so the combat began with that first collision: Tique’s thorax forced backward, the brace rendered into a kind of stretch, placing pressure mainly on the front garnets, small crescents lithographed. Perpetually encaptured by the lolling diagnostic - wrenching her gaze away, shifting the caudal pinions as to maintain a bracing figure: much like that of the roman senators, captured in stone by an artists tireless toil. As such is completed, that alabaster vrouw shifts the retrograde forward in effort to maintain balance, after all, falling is fatal for an ungulate in battle: it was almost instant victory for the opposing force. AS the foreleg is scoured with the intrusion of a bayonet, the oratrix shifts her body weight - swinging the attacked fulcrum to right - though it put her in a seemingly akward position, it spared it from any pressure which might in turn have delayed, prevented, or even been a fatal blow for the achromatic miss.

It

was enough to make her head spin - but somewho she maintained perfect sight, and by sheer luck her balance hadn’t been directly impared yet. The hoof, sprawled so that it could be retracted or protracted with prominent ease - minus a tad bit of discomfort. The first volley of pangs hit her now, catching up to the widdling thoughts and tactics buzzing in her head.
Ah, and round two. The elevation of her foe struck her as a blessed oppertunity, for as the maiden is reaching over Tique’s diadem, the valkyrie struck: the plaque soldiers unsheated in failed travesty of a smile, and snaffled the muscle lying bwtweeen the starboard foreleg and the pectoral regions to its side - it wasn’t, indeed, a fatal blow, but for days it would cause discomfort, and the constant rubbing of flesh and skin would prolong and intensify the injury. Minor strike, but a strike none the less. But before she could even attept to knock the looming maid over, the acoustical instrument was grasped by the other’s white combatants - and thus, by immeadiate refelx, she gathered her pinions - and fought down a venomous shriek. IT was a waste of breath, screams, and as though the monochrome lass hadn’t enough to conserve.

It was

as though the breath was knocked right out of her, when the stiletoes struck her chest - and it was immeadiately sucked back in, as the body was wrenched to port side, the entire body skiddled - and with growing frustration, she decided she’d have to use the scraped pinion - she pulled it under her, and with an immeadiate resonation of pain - but it didn’t last - she blocked it out with a mental screen. Her neck and shoulders weren’t useless - but they had the akward delay of attacks with she was subject to fusillades of anguish for her efforts.

For

the final reaction, she endured the legthening punding of flesh, stretching her her body this way and that in order to relive pressure and minimize the pain of the subjected area, the sinews now contracting around hte ivory bone with tense moments of preperation - preparing for her own offensive volley, the coronary regions of each biesction despersed to create the angle for her attack. And of course, Tique remained still for a moment, awaiting that the opressing combatant would reach the proximetey - an imaginary target, she had set up in her mind. Breathing, taking recovering respiration and momentary comfort as a time for immediate strategic planning.


one -

As

the adversary reaches the intended point and angle, and the circle is at the optimum width and circumference, she struck - making herself nearly invulnerable to the pain that ensued after she began. It wasn’t fast or furious, but the amount of impulsion reached high levels as Tique slammed her precarious flints into the assumed coffin bone- area - the place where the skin tapered in slightly, before widening above the hoof - not fatal, but that wasn’t the objective of the attack. Simultaneous with her last endeavor, the alabaster Shiva forced her thorax into the region just behind the fulcrums. Generally, stepping or placing pressure on a hoof normally made the adversary want to pick up their hooves - or move forward in an endeavor to relive that area of pressure. By combining that with an attack normally used to knock of their balance, she almost insured that something happened - maybe a fall, maybe just to knock her off her normal axis.



Two -

Regardless

to whether or not the opponent fell, she swung backward in a roundabout fashion - reliving herself of the chance that she might by dragged down as well. The other maiden would probably launch right back into another attack, so TIque decided to begin her next volley - starting up at the flab of skin between the head and cervical implement, she grabbed and forced her own head down - yanking her the other direction that Hoodwink was directed - her entire body screaming in protest. The pain wrenched it right out of her mouth as though she was being clouted by a wrought iron bar. Damn. But she had placed a pretty good blow there - it was one of the areas where blood was abundant, and therefore it might take several days to begin recovery - it was also a place often in motion. Think about it: how often do you move your head?

And

thus she completed her attacks, her assault was over: now on to the judge! She laughed - yes, she had sustained injury that might take days to recover from, but she had fought for the meadow. She had given it her all, though she doubted as though to whether or not she had actually won the fight. But, amazingly, it was fun again - to feel the adrenaline rush of combat, to even be injured again. You still got... some of it, she sighed. She turned her gaze to the opponent - and just as she did, her knees buckled - damn it! Staggering her up, her good mood severely affected by her loss of .. Balance. She began her now staggering transversing - around in a spiraling twist, her macrame mesh bloodied with the continuously bleeding aud, the amble’s even beat reduced to wobbled steps - withering away at her endurance. She suspected that the other horse hadn’t even fell, and that her attacks weren’t as good as they should have been. Who cares? She had tried.

- - -

t i q u e
universal fog - - »

- - -

cherished by none
another meadow brood
tethered to the meadow
the fallen muse
wingless bird

- - -


walking around it's clear
i'm worlds away
thinking with only half my mind
found myself wanting
to be sleeping
to be dreaming
to be worlds away
slip into bed the sheets are
cold and smooth
my tension melts to a quiet warm
find myself wanting
to be sleeping
to be dreaming
to be worlds away
i wanna be worlds away
apart from the day to day
i know i'll be okay
when I get worlds away
worlds away!
worlds away!
slipping away to somewhere
in my heart
to a world where no one's ever been before
that's when I find myself
not quite sleeping
but still dreaming
and i'm worlds away..

- - -