I hardly slept much the night before- too nervous- but I think it might have actually been in my favor. By the time the sun rose, I was too tired to be nervous, and the jitters had shifted from anxious to excited. I found myself eager for the fight, if only so that it would be behind me.
I asked Furfur not to come with me that day, not even to observe. Part of this is because there was a significant chance I could lose, and I couldn’t bear to have him witness that, but mostly I couldn’t trust him not to randomly insert himself into the fight. I wanted to stand on my own merits, and Furfur would certainly escalate things far more than necessary. My wolf had taken the stallion’s challenge far more personally than I had, and in the days leading up to the fight he had casually offered me assistance in numerous ways, all of them wildly over the top: disembowelment, evisceration, good-old-fashioned throat ripping. When I left him behind in the mountains, he whined like a heartbroken young pup, so sad I almost turned back for him.
I made my way to the designated battleground at a light jog, and I arrived warm and limber. I nodded curtly to Auntie Morr but hardly looked at everyone else; I was entirely focused on taking stock of my opponent. August was bigger and taller and older than me, but not by very much. His mane was braided, neat and practical, which made me silently curse my inexperience. I promised myself that if I lost the fight because my hair was in my eyes, I would cut it all off afterwards.
The palomino unbuckled his sword to set it on the ground, and there was something so intimate in the gesture I almost blushed. He was unnervingly handsome. “Ladies first,” he said in that burnt-butter voice, and I pawed eagerly at the dirt arena. An instant later, I leapt into motion.
I came at him hard, with the only obvious advantage that I had; I charged with my head lowered, spiral horn pointed at his chest. I kept a small part of my attention on the discarded sword, thinking there was a possibility it had been placed aside as a trick to lower my guard, and it would be picked up again as soon as I was distracted. I did not know my opponent, and I was not practiced in trusting the honor of strangers.
I had decided before our fight that I did not want to hurt him, although maybe this was a mistake. Maybe I should have listened to Furfur’s guidance and sought victory in the most decisive way: with blood, and lots of it... But I could not see how anyone deserving of warden could deliberately harm an innocent member of their court. August was not a criminal; he just wanted the same thing as me. If I got close enough to pierce the flesh, I would draw my head to the side and gently (as gently as possible) tap him with the side of my horn.
Through all this I felt eerily calm, despite the thundering of my heart and the speed of my advance. My mind’s chatter faded away to nothing, my body sure and certain as the ocean’s tide. I lived for that razor’s edge of focus-- it made my soul sing. I think I was grinning, although I don’t remember for sure.
Summary: Aspara wakes, leaves Furfur behind, and goes to the arena. After quickly checking out her opponent (-waggles eyebrows-) she charges him head-on with her horn pointed at his chest. She's not trying to actually kill him though, so if she gets close she will turn her head and tap him with the side of her horn. She smiles :3
Attack Used: 1
Attack(s) Left: 1
Block Used: 0
Block(s) Left: 1
Item(s) Used: N/A
Response Deadline: 12/14
Tags: @August, @Sid, @inkbone, @nestle, @layla
