we are the warriors that built this town (agana)

[Dawn]

He spent his days sheltered in a cave on the outskirts of the Training Grounds, emerging occasionally to limber up and remind his muscles how to fight. With no living equines to spar with, he fought figments of his own imagination, pretend opponents whom he always beat, without exception. It was a poor way to stay in shape, and did not make up for battling a real opponent, but he had to make do with what he had. He was aware of the plague that devastated the land, and had kept himself in seclusion until he was sure the worst of it had passed. After all, he had to be fighting fit and ready to go into battle at any time, and Tartarus may well decide to take advantage of the weakened state of the world. Innuendo, at least, would be ready and willing to answer that call. Until then, he had to keep himself from contracting that dreaded disease. He could not conquer the world if he was dead. These days he encountered nobody, and sometimes he wondered if he was the only warrior left in the Northern army. It was a lonely, sobering thought, for he remembered a time when these Training Grounds were full of colts his own age, both full Drafts and half-bred Weakland spawn, all learning to fight. Once home to a thriving unit of efficient warriors, these frozen lands were barren and dead, with skeletons hiding deep beneath the snow. Innuendo had been initially surprised that his kind were also susceptible to the virus that swept through the Weaklands, decimating the population. He was sure that the North's hardier, superior Draft breeding would have kept them safe, but it was not the case. They were not as invulnerable as he had thought, and the great armies of the North dropped like chaff.

Still, this was the life he knew. He'd been raised as a warrior, with loyalty bred into his bones. He knew no other existence, so even if his comrades were wiped out, he would keep the faith, and maybe have a chance to pass his memories and knowledge on to the future generation - if there would be one. Perhaps it would be worth looking for mares to breed, because the population certainly needed to be built up again, but he was wary of encountering that illness. It was likely that there were few mares strong enough to bear a foal if they did survive the plague, or even if they could after being sick - maybe the illness affected their fertility. Pondering these thoughts, Innuendo struck the ground with one feathered hoof, feeling the strain in his left foreleg from supporting his weight. He tossed his head, breath pluming visibly from his nostrils, and cantered a few laps around the large training area, warming up his muscles for exercise. That left foreleg of his refused, as always, to bear more of his weight than necessary. Innuendo had learned to live with the injury incurred so long ago, and although it didn't slow him down much at all, it was still a weakness nonetheless. One had to be very cunning to exploit it, for Innuendo was a fearsome fighter, and not much slipped past his guard. His thick neck bobbed with the motion of his canter, sturdy legs attacking the ground and producing small shakes with each hoof that made contact. When he felt sufficiently warmed up, Innuendo began his practice.

The Percheron mix whirled and bit invisible enemies, contorting his body into various forms as he made himself as hard to hit as possible. His hind legs were fearsome battering rams, and they kicked up snowy turf as they powered him through his mock fight. Neck arched to protect his vulnerable throat, he was a picture of collection as he struck out with his forelegs, his forehand freed up to deliver all kinds of deadly attacks. When he was satisfied his enemies all lay defeated in the snow around him, he finally stopped, steam rising slowly from his speckled back. A cold feeling of sadness blanketed him; he missed real combat, and though he knew this may keep him in physical shape, it was his mind that was likely to suffer most from having no equine opponent to spar with. Blowing a sigh that dissipated quickly in the freezing air, Innuendo turned and made his way to the edge of the Training Grounds. A sense of unease made him halt suddenly, tilting his ears back. He was certain that someone, somewhere, was watching him.

tagged: Stormifier

[Stormifier]

    

    The last winter had not been kind to Agana. Harsh winds and sparse grazing had left it's toll on the draft, she had thinned out a bit and her coat had a wiry texture to it. I can't really blame anyone but myself.. I chose to stay in the farthest reaches of the North, away from everyone and everything. Her thoughts were quite jumbled, racing from self-pity to resentment and then to anger and despair. Red hot rage built up in the mare's veins as she thought about her current predicament, her mind deciding to blame her fortune on everyone but herself. The weather, the land, other Northerners, they were all to blame. I'll make them all pay. Even in her conscious, acid dripped off her words and burned everything in it's wake. Trudging along, her massive flaxen pillars lifted and dropped into the snow, leaving large craters behind her. It had been a full winter since Agana had seen another living equine soul, thus she was unaware of the disease that ravaged the landscape. Isolation had started to take affect on her already brittle psyche, she had  began talking to herself and hearing voices in the wind. As she neared closer to familiar ground, she grew accustomed to the symptoms of her crumbling mind.

    It had been 5 nights since Agana had left the sanctuary of her hidden cave high in the mountains. While her winter home was isolated and barren, Agana had rather enjoyed the silence and thought of it as a worth-while sacrifice. As hunger pains nipped at her girth, the draft decided that she would not be returned to the place again. She had been wrong, silence was not worth starving to death. Crack! A loud crackling echo sounded through the small ravine which she stood as pain and snow blanketed her bodice. Lost in her thoughts, the draft was rather oblivious to her surroundings and had wandered into a low hanging tree. Wood cracked and pushed against her poll and forehead, it's rough fibers straining against the pressure of her thick skull. The branch was no match for the mare's forehead and as she continued forward, despite the pain, the wood finally cracked in two. Having shook the entire tree with her stupidity, the vibrations from her incident sent a bucket-load of snow down onto her back. "Oh bother.. I'm such a damn fool." Agana's deep tone rumbled through the small valley, the sound of it like a warm summer wind rushing through the icy barren. The incredibly long flaxen tresses that hung from the crest of her neck waved and danced with each other as Agana braced herself and shook the snow out of her fur.

    Afraid of having another incident, the draft's brown eyes were now glued to the path in front of her. Determined, Agana headed farther into Tartarus's reaches, the Training Grounds. Unwelcome in her youth due to her gender, Agana had never before been to the place where Tartarus's warriors trained with each other. This time, they'll have to accept me.. I'll make them. As Agana rounded the corner in the path, she froze in her tracks. Her ears, with feathery tuffs sticking out from the centers, pricked forward with anxiousness. The sound of grunting and heavy hooves hitting the ground carried towards her attuned ears, which flicked back and forth like a antenna looking for the best reception. Her muscles quivered under her liver pelt, tensed and ready for battle. The mare listened for a few moments, trying to assess what kind of situation she was getting herself into. Having decided for a grand entrance, the beast of a mare coiled and tensed the muscles in her hocks and stifle. The liver chestnut bodice trotted forward so that the clearing and her entrance were now visible and then suddenly sprung into action with surprising gracefulness. With long cream tresses that danced in the breeze, Agana lifted herself into the air and onto her rear-end. Her feathered front legs cupped the air and hunger-weakened rear legs supporting her weight as she reared.

Come at me b*tches.

[Dawn]

Innuendo wasn't long in waiting for a response; as though she had sensed his unease, the liver chestnut appeared from the shadows, her forehooves striking out in an extended trot. Her mane and tail were arrestingly flaxen against the dark chocolate contrast of her coat. In build, the mare appeared to be on the heavy side, with large, chunky hindquarters and a thick neck that bespoke of strength. In height, she and Innuendo seemed to be roughly the same, but by virtue of testosterone, he appeared taller and more muscular. He eyed the woman warily as she came to a halt at the edge of the Training Grounds, rising up on her hind legs in a rear of challenge. Innuendo brought both ears forward in interest - here was a mare wanting to test herself. Such creatures were not unheard of, but in his experience, most mares were either in foal, with a foal at foot, or both, and therefore unfit to spar. The Northern army was efficient at breeding their warriors, and few mares were left unbred in the ranks; however, if a mare could defend herself and gain her fellow stallions' respect, she would be prized for her usefulness on the battlefield. Innuendo was itching to fight again, to feel his blood sing and pit himself against a worthy adversary, and he'd fought few mares in his lifetime. Few that thought to try to fight him as an equal.

He was wary of her though, due to his paranoia of disease. The last thing he wanted was to accidentally catch the plague through contact with her skin or an accidental draw of blood. So he edged out back into the Training Grounds, roaming his eyes over her with what appeared to be lustful intent. In all actuality, he was inspecting her physical form for her overall health. She had no sores or dust pockets on her skin, which would hint at her laying down for long periods of time. Her coat was rather dull, but then, his wasn't in the best of shape either, from eating the same grass in one spot that he'd been fertilizing over and over - perhaps she was the same way. The faint outline of ribs could be seen in her belly, but she was not exactly starving. There was no feverish cast to her face and he could not hear a wheeze in her lungs, but honestly, the best way to know for sure if she was infectious or not was to simply ask. "You there," he barked, his voice rough from disuse. "Are you currently sick with plague, or have you been in the past?" Narrowing his eyes, he glared at her, swishing his tail as he awaited her reply. Laying his ears flat back, he stalked towards her until a mere five feet separated them, then feinted with a shoulder and danced away, arching his neck as he collected himself.

The speckled grey made a couple of false charges, hoping she would get the idea that he did not intend to hurt her. Maybe. His mind could still be changed. Leaping towards her with teeth bared, he reached out for her shoulder with the intention to pinch, not bite. It was an easy move to block, but he was intrigued to see how she would handle it. His way of "testing her ability", so to speak. Her next action would dictate how the fight would go, and he would adapt his style to suit it. She would need to be careful, however. If she moved to attack him in a way he deemed truly threatening, he would shut her down quickly, and things would not become pleasant for her at all.

ooc: short I know, sorry! I'm still getting the hang of him but it will be interesting to see how this goes!

[Stormifier]

Wait. Huh. Agana's facial features drooped in utter confusion, her flat irises searching the grounds for other beings. Fully expecting to see the strength of Tartarus's army, her eyelids blinked in frequent succession as her confusion grew. There's only one.. only one dude. Bah.. The confusion upon Agana's face faded into amusement as the sound of mocking laughter rose from her half-widened maw. She had come all this way into the North to challenge the brunt of Tartarus's army in order to prove herself and instead before her stood a lone stallion. "Oh boy, this will be a challenge," the mare muttered under her breath, her sarcasm unmistakable. Agana's large pillars hit the ground once again with a loud thud; mud from the ground underneath her flung up onto the feathering on her flaxen legs, staining the ivory color.
Having descended onto the ground once more, her gaze shifted to Innuendo. Her full attention upon him, she began to critique every aspect of the grey stud that stud in front of her. She took a note of his light fleabitten coat and the well developed muscles that surrounded his shoulder and rump. The Percheron's wide strong shoulders made way for thick boned legs with hooves to match, the sight of witch made Agana let out a huff of confidence. "You there, are you currently sick with plague, or have been in the past?" His voice met her ears, the sound rough and deep. She pondered a second about his question, her mind twirling at the possibility of his meaning. Plague? What in Fate's name. The chestnut's brown eyes followed Innuendo's every step, her gaze narrowing as he stalked toward her with pinned ears. Still reeling from his question, Agana's long flaxen tale began to swish side to side, it's thick tendrils flicking against her flank. "I have a name, boy," the liver colored mare spat, her confidence nearing it's peak, "but I know of no plague." Despite the hostility that rode on her words, her deep velvety voice carried on the breeze and evened out the rough sound of the stallion's voice.

Agana, however, was very unsurprised when the grey equine began to charge at her with bared teeth. During their brief conversation, she had noticed his gaze upon her. She had been sure that he was sizing her up and her assumptions had just been proved correct. The mocking laugh that the man had heard earlier once again sounded across the barren plain, it's tone deep and provocative. Having noticed his attack early enough, Agana had enough time to flit out of the way. Her well-muscled but underfed body reacted with unexpected quickness and gracefulness, she wasn't small and slender after all. While she perhaps was not at full strength, years of conditioned muscle memory were reacting on queue. Her liver chestnut coat rippled over her mass as Agana raised her front pillars and thrust herself into a trot in order to avoid her attacker. In an effort to mimic his earlier demeanor, the mare lifted her legs higher and arched her thick neck as she danced away from him. In her collected form, she proceeded to circle Innuendo, shaking and flinging her neck side to side in it's arched position as she had seen many cocky stallions do. Agana's long flaxen tresses lay idle against her neck and shoulder but once she began her provoking dance, they spun and waved about. "What exactly are your intentions, weakling?" As before, her velvety voice met his ears and her deep brown eyes turned to glare at him.

The perpetually cold air that hung over the Training Grounds buffered against Agana's dark chocolatey coat. The smell of blood and sweat caught in her flared nostrils and would not retreat. "Agana watch this!", the dark yearling colt yelled as he twirled about and struck the air with his hind legs. Yearling Agana nickered back in response, "Hah. You only wish you were this good!" Her liver coat became visible as she came sailing over a snow bank, her thick feathered pillars come down with a thump as she sank into the deep snow some distance from the Training Grounds. A laugh came from the two yearlings as her dark colored friend galloped over to join her. Even then, the smell of blood and sweat was evident. Agana shook the memory from her conscious, her gaze once again focusing on the fleabitten grey that stood in her vision. Having circled Innuendo in her collected prance, her fetlocks and pasterns flexed downward as she sunk her weight onto her hind-end and came to an abrupt halt. The liver mare shifted her weight once again as her front pillar rose in the air to come crashing down upon the earth again. The pawing done by her massive hoof had left a decent size hole in the muddy ground as the mare became impatient for the man's response.

ooc: Still getting used to writing again xD

[Dawn]

Her admission of cluelessness about the plague pleased Innuendo. Here was someone untouched by the ravages of disease, who was still fit and ready to serve Tartarus' cause. It was a pity she was female. But in this day and age, any able-bodied fighters were welcome, and Innuendo was happy to step in as an mentor to test her abilities. He didn't care for that snark of hers, but it was simply how most Northerners talked - always trying to get the upper hand in both words and actions. He did not need to talk down to her to make him feel powerful; he simply was, and he didn't really care either way if she believed it or not. Her opinions were beneath him, and he refused to allow her use of the word "boy" to bait him. It was wordplay, and nothing else. All that mattered was her skill that she could show him, right here and now. He rallied himself and made to attack, and the patch of liver chestnut that was his target quickly disappeared before his teeth could touch their mark. She was quick, he would give her that. Her reflexes were in good working order. He had given her plenty of warning and a lot of time to maneuver, however, so he wasn't overly impressed at this point. It was an easy, easy attack that he pulled right out of his bag at level one, for the beginners. Thus, she had passed the first test, but they will soon become much harder. Only time will tell exactly what her skill level was.

Like a hunting cat stalking its prey, the mare began to pace circles around him, saying nothing, stepping high in a gait of collection and arching her neck like a stallion. Innuendo was utterly confused by this; what was she doing? Did she think she was male? She had neither the hormones nor the musculature to pull off a show of testosterone, and it looked silly. The grey Percheron disliked her circling him, and pointedly he backed a few steps so that she had no choice but to stop and face him, or else risk running into that muscled rump of his, which would be very inclined to kick out. He held his pose, legs square and head turned around to frown at her, trying to figure out what her problem was. There was something eating away at the woman, that was for sure. She made no move to spar back with him, and her face was twisted in an ugly glare as she asked him of his intentions, calling him a weakling. Wow. She really has a death wish. Innuendo simply looked back at her, his ears pinned against his poll. Anger was for weaklings, and the hilarity of the situation was that by that definition, she was the one who was weakest here. Just before she passed his hindquarters and he was getting ready to really show her face the business side of his hooves, she halted, and then pawed at the ground, tearing a massive hole in the dirt. Innuendo was quickly growing tired of this child's antics. She obviously thought she was a Fate herself, didn't she? No wonder she was unaware of the plague, it seemed more likely that nobody could stand to be around her, because all she did was dominate.

The fleabitten stallion rolled his eyes visibly, resigning himself to deign the mare with an answer. "First of all, you don't call someone a weakling or boy unless they have proven otherwise. Capisce? It's only common courtesy, of which you appear to have none." Tilting his head, he studied the dark chestnut impatiently. "Anyone would find my intentions to be obvious, but since they escape you, it seems I must explain," he responded, his gruff voice full of sarcasm. "You. Me. Training Grounds. Why else are you here? Would you like to stand in the corner and look pretty? Come on." He edged towards her, his ears so far back that they appeared hidden in his mane. With the speed of a striking snake, he bit at her neck, really bit this time, simultaneously twirling his hindquarters towards hers so that they stood parallel to each other. There he unleashed a barrage of kicks to her belly and hind legs. If he had succeeded in grabbing hold of her neck, he would be holding her there and she'd have nowhere to go to escape. Through a mouthful of skin and mane (he hoped), he growled at the insolent mare. "Fight me bitch, or die."

[Stormifier]

Agana couldn’t quite get a good read on the fleabitten grey who stood before her. Here he was, all by himself, in the Training Grounds, fighting with… himself. The few drops of sweat that still hung to his coat gave her the clue of his strenuous activity, but with no opponent in sight… Maybe she wasn’t the only crazy one. She had previously taken offense to his own words, who was he to start interrogating her without even knowing her name! Her snarky wordplay, however, didn’t seem to faze the man at all. Glaring at him, his own dark eyes seemed cold and unmoved by her actions. When he made a move to lunge at her, Agana’s reflexes were just sharp enough to allow her to flit out of the way. Depression pitted deep in her gut, for even she could tell that she was not at the top of her game. She didn’t have the muscle or the experience to win a match against him but it’s not like she would openly admit that. It was evident to her now that he was testing her ability, after all Agana did come here to prove herself. Still confused about his lack of reaction to her sassy comments, Agana’s chocolatey head moved to the side in a puppy-like tilt. Her confusion became even more apparent on her face as her previously pinned ears flicked forward with focus and her eyes softened from their glare. Impatience and confusion radiated off his masculine features, it was obvious that he didn’t like the little parade of hers. When she came to abrupt halt and proceeded to mock him further, she noticed the change on his face. His fleabitten ears pinned against his poll and he glared a look at her that seemed to say “Nice try, but no cigar”. The longer she continued on with her antics, the more his impatience grew and Agana would have been a fool not to notice.

Rolling his eyes, the fleabitten stallion proceeded with words of his own, "First of all, you don't call someone a weakling or boy unless they have proven otherwise. Capisce? It's only common courtesy, of which you appear to have none." He then tilted his head, his dark eyes studying the mare as she let out a huff of discontent. His mockery of her manners seemed foolish to Agana, after all, he didn’t even move to learn her name before questioning her. How rude. The mare’s chocolatey coat rippled as her muscles tensed with rage, but none of her other features displayed it. Her poker face remained as the man continued, "Anyone would find my intentions to be obvious, but since they escape you, it seems I must explain…” His last words hung in her ears for what seemed like a decade as he mocked her intelligence. The anger that had built up inside her suddenly quelled, turning into a calm-like sadistic laughter. Sarcasm. Finally. Her chuckling rang through the desolate valley, her tone cold as ice. "You. Me. Training Grounds. Why else are you here? Would you like to stand in the corner and look pretty? Come on," the grey challenged. Noticing the violent tone that his voice held, her muscles began to tense before he could even finish his sentence. “Not a chance in Hell,” Agana made out before the man could begin his attack.

The grey equine took a step towards her, his velvety ears pinned against his poll and disappeared within his mane. The draft mare took a step to the side simultaneously, her body already tensed with anticipation. With her body now perpendicular to his own, the stallion lunged at her with unrealistic speed. Her reflexes reacted almost just as quick and the mare twisted her body just enough to avoid a full-bite, the stallion didn’t have as much of her skin in-between his teeth as he had wanted. His strong jowls grasped at her neck, his teeth clutching onto her scruff and slicing some skin. Blood began to pool in the stallion’s mouth as he continued his assault, turning and kicking out with his feathered pillars. Trapped, fear flashed in the mare’s eyes for a split second as her mind raced with possible options of attack or escape. The stallion growled at her through a mouthful of her flesh, “Fight me bitch, or die.”

“With pleasure,” the draft mare commented, her voice gruff and determined. Agana yanked away from the grey stallion, ripping her neck from his grasp. Her risky decision left a handful of flesh still left in Innuendo’s mouth and a rather shallow hole in her neck. Like lightening, she twirled around to the right so that her rear end was now facing his exposed belly. A grunt came from her maw as she unleashed a flurry of well-aimed powerful kicks towards his ribs. After a dozen or so, the mare lowered her pillars to the ground and trotted off a few feet to face the stallion again. With blood dripping from her neck and the small cuts on her legs, Agana glared at the stallion and let out a snort. “That’s all you got?”

[Dawn]

His teeth protested as the neck they held was torn from his grasp. Instinctively he clenched tighter, refusing to let go, and was rewarded with a chunk of skin and blood left in his mouth. The dark chestnut was free, but a gaping wound bled down the expanse of her neck, her blood almost invisible against the reddish brown color of her coat. Innuendo held the scrap of flesh in his mouth a moment or two longer, to show the mare that he had it, then spat it out and stomped a large hoof over it, the sturdy fetlock twisting as he flattened it into the snow. Anger had momentarily ruled him before, which was uncharacteristic of his personality. Usually he was of a more tolerant disposition, but he'd had very limited equine interaction these past few months, and something about this girl's manner really pissed. Him. Off. His flash of rage was quelled by the satisfaction of drawing first blood, knowing that he had wounded her and she now bore the mark of his teeth. Adrenaline ran hot through his system, calling all of his faculties back to life, and his muscles trembled with the anticipation of a real battle. For so long, he had got by without practicing against a real opponent, and he knew his fighting skills were rusty. There is no gain to be had by sparring imaginary adversaries, it may keep his muscle memory in shape, but your mind is the greatest weapon you possess. Without enough stimuli to keep it active, your creativity can wither. Attacks that hit hard are not to be underestimated, but in the seasoned warrior's experience, a battle is won more with creativity than predictable, pre-learned blows. Against the familiarity of his own mind, Innuendo was guaranteed to win each battle, but now faced with a living, thinking opponent, he was about to be tested as he hadn't been in over a year.

In a flurry of movement and some lightning-fast footwork, she spun in a half-circle and pummelled her hind hooves against his ribs, knocking the breath out of the Percheron mix. Innuendo grunted as he felt his ribcage vibrate with pain, sending shockwaves throughout his body. Pain as he hadn't felt in months oscillated through him, and he fought the instinct to flee. The mighty bands of muscle that surrounded his ribcage shuddered with the impact, but they did the job of lessening the blows and protecting his heart and lungs. His breath came with difficulty; she had winded him, and he needed to recover. Coiling his hindquarters beneath him, the stallion threw himself sideways away from her battering kicks, getting himself the hell out of there. Just as he managed to escape the reach of her hooves, she finished her attack and trotted forward, increasing the distance between them. Like well-choreographed dancers, the two equines whirled and faced each other again, the rage palpably visible in their icy glares. Innuendo's ears were flat to his skull, heavy head snaking down low as he tried to threaten her. They lifted briefly to catch her derisive comment, and then laid back down. He made no move to attack her, his ribs still smarting from the blows they received. They appeared bruised, not broken, but it was hard to tell with the adrenaline that raged through him, chasing away pain so that his body could do what it must. A seething silence fell between the stallion and mare, as they both sized each other up with new respect for what the other could do.

Unexpectedly, Innuendo chuckled; a low, pleasing noise that echoed strangely in the tense atmosphere. "Far from it, sweetheart, but I'd rather save my real efforts for the weasels who threaten our cause. I am Innuendo, former leader of Osiris' gang. Now would you like to have a civil conversation, maybe spar a little bit, or shall we continue to batter each other to pieces? Your choice." With an effort, Innuendo forced himself out of his defensive stance, allowing his ears to come forward again in a show of peace. A curious step led him closer to the dark amber she-warrior, but he watched her the entire time, ready to revert back to battle mode if she chose to continue their deadly combat. He'd had every intention of killing her if she'd peed herself and begged for her life, but she had fought back, showing true Northern spirit. By pushing her that hard, forcing her on the defensive, he had got a measure of what she was made of. His job was to weed out the weak, and she had proven that she was not going to back down in the heat of battle. True, she irritated him at the start and provoked his attack, but he was willing to let bygones be bygones. None of it was really personal. She was valuable to the North, and therefore Innuendo did not want to really hurt her. Shake her up a little bit, play games with her, remind her of her place, sure. But not maim her or otherwise cripple her. However, should she choose to go down that route, Innuendo would happily destroy her. Any mare that thought to bring him down would quickly be shown the error of her ways.

[Stormifier]

    The chestnut mare was quite proud of her ability to counter the stallion’s attacks, after all it had been over a year since she had put her skills to the test. Her choice to rip herself from Innuendo’s grasp had been risky and she was sure she would regret that later. The small breeze that floated about stung against the hole in her neck, making her wince in pain. Oh boy, that’s going to be sore tomorrow. Sore and festered. Lovely. Blood continued to drip from her wound, down her skin and onto the frozen dry grass, staining it a dark red color. Once Agana had ripped her body away from Innuendo’s grasp and pivoted around she caught sight of the patch of her skin hanging out of the grey’s maw. She witnessed the anger flash in his pupils when he spat her flesh out and flattened it into the grass and the sight made her rage bubble over like a volcano. Her beautiful chocolate coat was a temple to be respected, maybe even worshiped, but definitely not torn apart. She wasn’t some foal-making machine – Agana regarded herself as a warrior who should be respected. The rage that flowed inside her allowed her muscles to react even faster than before, which made her pivot and attack graceful and lightning fast. The chocolate mare’s thick muscled hindquarters proceeded to pummel against the Percheron mix, rattling his ribs with her massive hooves.

    The wind buffeted against Agana’s features, twirling her creamy flaxen tendrils around her poll and pinned ears. The two equines swung around to face each other and her long whipping tendrils moved to cover her brown eyes. She witnessed his display of authority: his head lowered to a snaking position with ears pinned and his response to her comment. The rage visible in his gaze worried her – his earlier comments conveyed a cool unnerved confidence unlike the anger that he exhibited now. Her realization of this change in his behavior transformed her confusion into fulfillment, as her actions had aroused the rash emotion of rage within him. She was sure, at this point, that some part of him only wished to tear her body into pieces, reveling in the sight of her pain. Should he decide to act on this rage, she would be more than happy to oblige with his challenge. To her dismay, the fleabitten grey stood as still and silent as the Queen of England’s guard. 
   
     The silence was finally broken by a low chuckle that came from Innuendo’s mouth, the sound of which made Agana’s pinned ears flick forward with interest. The chestnut draft fought the urge to spit some sarcastic comment back at him while the stallion spoke, "Far from it, sweetheart, but I'd rather save my real efforts for the weasels who threaten our cause. I am Innuendo, former leader of Osiris' gang. Now would you like to have a civil conversation, maybe spar a little bit, or shall we continue to batter each other to pieces? Your choice." The Noriker cross took her time in replying and instead spent the time watching the man’s features. Agana’s deep brown eyes flicked over Innuendo’s form and her gaze suggested that she appreciated his well-muscled form. Her mind once again thought about his bout of anger earlier and how it had seemed uncharacteristic of him, what little she knew about him that is. His previous comments and the actions that followed were quite contradictory and this made Agana think that she had hit a nerve somehow. She also thought it was curious that Innuendo could have continued his attack and attempted to finish her off but yet he refrained. The confidence and sass that welled inside the liver chestnut appeared in the physical form of a smirk upon her face. The mare now had a plan to throw the fleabitten grey even greater off balance.
    
    It was then, after careful thought and a full “check-out” of the stallion, that she replied, “Oh, so I’m you’re sweetheart now?” Agana finished her comment with a full-bodied laugh, the type of laugh that made her rich deep voice ring across the valley. The liver chestnut warrior took several steps forward until her head was near his girth and then proceeded to lower her poll until he could feel the hot breath from her nostrils on the underside of his stomach. She breathed in slowly and took deep breaths, letting the hot moist air from her nostrils flow along the soft skin of his underbelly. Flirting wasn’t a common thing for Agana but she was more than willing to give it a try in order to throw him off. “First I was your bitch and now I’m you’re sweetheart – man you sure do move fast,” she commented, her voice tainted with arrogance and provocativeness. The mare took several steps forward and circled around to the other side of the stallion so that their heads were next to each other, her feathered hooves creating imprints in the ground. “So, Innuendo,” she spoke again, putting suggestive emphasis on his name, “I will agree to have a civil conversation, if that’s what you call it.” Agana’s eyes softened slightly but still held their infuriating gaze as she looked at the grey draft with her body still pumping with her anger-fueled adrenaline rush. “Though, honestly, I must admit … you don’t fight quite as well as I’d thought a lead stallion would.” Her cockiness was contagious.

[Dawn]

Innuendo was aware of the inflammatory nature of his words, especially considering the inescapable fact that he was the instigator of this clash. Treating the flaxen chestnut as though she were a child throwing a tantrum was low of him, he knew it, but he was not about to apologize for his actions. He had little patience for her earlier behavior, the way she'd acted like a princess after making an obvious challenge to him, and he was still in the process of figuring out what her intentions were. Maybe he had misread the entire situation, and she hadn't in fact been inviting him to fight. Either way, they were in this mess now. Her blood flavoured his mouth, and his sides still ached from the pounding they had received. The two of them had clashed against each other, and now stood at an uneasy stalemate, only a breath away from violence once more. He had left the situation up to her; would she choose to go down fighting over such a silly matter? Or perhaps she would be the one to end him, as unthinkable as it was. He had his limp, of course, which hindered him slightly, and he was not infallible - as she had just proven. The grey was under no illusions of his own invulnerability. He knew he would die one day, and chances were, it was going to be bloody and hurt like hell. But it was the Northern way, and he expected nothing less. The Fates knew how many lives he had ended. He probably had it coming. But he refused to let it happen today, in the Training Grounds, in a pride skirmish against some random mare. There were too many battles left for him to fight - he lived for war, and his side had not yet won. That was reason enough for him to spurn death, for now.

A cool silence fell between the two equines. Innuendo did not push the mare any further, knowing that one wrong move would instigate another conflict. Plus, he figured he had made her suffer enough; he would allow her to choose their next course of action. The anger on her face slowly melted away, to be replaced with a curious new expression. For a moment or two, the Percheron cross eyed her, trying to discern from her facial features and body language as to what she was thinking now. His skin twitched irritably as her gaze roamed over his sturdy frame, but the intent seemed ... not judgmental, but admiring? He was tense at first, thrown off-balance, disliking her sudden attention on him. But as the dark chestnut continued her inspection, he quickly processed the merits of having a lady's reverence, and indeed began to welcome her to look all she wanted. The fleabitten grey could not stop himself from throwing a curious gaze over her own body, thinking it fair game to look if she was taking the same liberty with him. He had to admit, he was fascinated by her color; it was a far cry from the usual blacks, bays, greys, and pintos you normally run into up here. Her blonde locks were a beautiful contrast against the rich chocolate of her coat. She was a picture of strength and solidarity, which to Innuendo's eyes, was beautiful. Some might think the delicate lightness of bare-fetlocked equines to be more attractive in comparison to a heavier Draft, but to Innuendo, he found all of these strong features to be most desirable. The coarseness of her head, the strength in her neck and back, her thick cannon bones - all hinted at durability, which was what he considered to be attractive.

Her voice, when she spoke, was smoother and considerably more feminine than the growl he'd previously heard. Innuendo's nostrils flared in response to the delicate laugh that flowed from her lips, and his body wanted so badly to respond. He held himself in check, unsure of what game she was playing now. For all he knew, she could be trying to throw him off guard so that she could get the upper hand on him. He couldn't allow that. But oh, she was playing on dangerous ground. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been intimate. Certainly not after he'd been kicked out of Osiris' gang. As the dark flaxen chestnut approached him, he observed her warily, his head tilted to one side. When he felt her hot breath on the underside of his girth, he flinched, his hind leg on the corresponding side jerking upwards a few inches in warning. He still happened to be rather sore in the ribs and he wasn't keen on her attacking him there again! She made a joking comment about Innuendo, and he cracked a smile in response, appreciating her humor, but still unwilling to trust this sudden change in mood. The mare circled him again, but this time he allowed it to happen. Just because he was wary, didn't mean he couldn't enjoy the ride. If she wanted to go down that road, he would be happy to indulge her. Just on his terms, not hers. And oh, he could make her very unhappy, if she allowed it to go that far.

Heat emanated from her body as she stood beside him, her head close to his. She was near enough so that he could scent the perfume of her coat, mixed with the metallic tang of blood clotting on her neck. He decided he liked the way it smelled, and he tried not to show what a turn-on it was for him. Her tactic was working ... almost. He was certainly affected by her charms, but sweetie, did you really think it could be that easy? His experience taught him that mares used sex (or the promise of it) to disarm stallions, and he was no stranger to this. His ears flicked forward as she said his name provocatively, and a wry smile pulled at his lips as she commented on his lack of skill. With the equine equivalent of a shrug, he replied, "I got used to sparring Weaklanders. They don't put up nearly as much of a fight as you did. Be fair, though - it was hardly a fight. More of a preliminary round, considering it was one attack each." His nostrils flared as he sent her a sideways glance. It was time to take control back of a situation that was rapidly spinning into the gutter.

Innuendo rotated his hindquarters away from her, completing a turn on his forehand. He stood the opposite way now, still parallel to her, his head and shoulders eclipsing hers. His dark muzzle breathed down her spine, delicately stirring strands of her honeyed mane. His lips played down her back, lightly nibbling here and there as he took in the perfume of her skin, and marked her scent with his own. Pausing at her dock, he pulled back and lightly traced her hip with his teeth. In a husky, wolfish voice, the speckled stallion murmured to her, "I never said you were mine ... " He paused in his ministrations as a shot of pure testosterone spiked in his system, making him stand taller and catch his breath. His ears pinned flat to his poll as he nipped her flank roughly, claiming her as his own and daring her to challenge it. "But since you were so kind to offer, you are now. What is your name, sweetheart?" A dominant snarl had entered his voice, and he swung his quarters away from her again, should she think to attack him for claiming her. He didn't particularly care if she answered his question truthfully or not; he was quite happy to call her all manner of names if she refused to give him her real one. Was this what she wanted? Did the situation go as she planned? For the time being, Innuendo didn't care. It felt good to wield his power as a stallion. He'd been alone for so long, and now he had a companion who had no choice but to abide by his rules. He was rather looking forward to seeing her dismay; this entire encounter had been a power struggle in so many ways, and he had just played his ace. What else could this little lady be hiding up her sleeve?