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Post by Tiggs on Jan 10, 2010 10:32:25 GMT
Omeo had to stifle a laugh as the colt just sunk to his knee in deep mud. The fight was almost a game now for the roan. The greys increasing anger only served to amuse the dun, and he waded closer, the sound of mud sucking at his hooves with every step. Omeo carefully tested the mud in front of him to make sure he was not going to sink right down before he stepped right up to the grey colt.
He peered down at him, looking rather smug with mud smothering his lower half. “I win.” He said simply. Omeo did not want to hurt the colt too much just to prove a point, and as his legs was so deeply entrenched, pushing him over might wrench something. Instead, he leaned over his back and took a firm grip on his withers like a mature stallion might do in the middle of a fight. A wither-hold was a hard thing to manage, especially in the middle of a fight, so it was a show of dominance that Omeo used over the grey.
He held on for half a minute, not biting too hard, before he sighed through his nose and readying his haunches, he pulled backward in an attempt to free the colt from the mud’s cold grasp. His own feet sunk a good few inches, and he hand to reposition his feet before he pulled again. It was merciful of the colt to help his contender, but Omeo was not a ruthless soul, and to just leave the colt floundering in the mud would eat at him.
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Post by Ehetere on Jan 10, 2010 10:51:53 GMT
No matter how he struggled to free himself as quickly, Piringa could not wrench his front legs from their muddy prison. If anything, his struggles made him sink deeper and the squelching sound of the roan coming closer and closer was ominous. He was going to die here wasn’t he? Stuck with no where to run and no way to fight he’d be beaten into the ground with ease.
Piringa knew he had been defeated before the colt told him so – there was no way he was getting out of here any time soon and perhaps never. All the same, he still tried to detach himself from the sticky substance as the roan got an easy hold on his withers. But the bite did not hurt so much – it would bruise but not leave a scar. And then after a while the roan started to try and pull him out. The extra upward from the other helped Piringa’s struggling rear legs to free his front ones and stand shakily on relatively solid ground.
His legs trembled from exertion, not from the fight but his struggle to get out of the mud. He looked at the colt, but his pride would not allow him to thank him. He’d been humiliated already. And he’d lost the fillies too. He glanced over to where they had been standing and… hey! They fillies had left, completely vanished, during the fight. Unbelievable.
He shook his head disbelievingly, and the started back the way he’d come, his thoughts on getting to a creek where he could clean himself off. He hated his grey coat being muddied up and dirtied. But one thing’s for sure, he’d remember that colt, and when they next me he’d beat him. Not out of hatred but in principle. Piringa hated losing, and he’d been doing far too much of it.
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Post by Tiggs on Jan 10, 2010 11:17:24 GMT
Omeo huffed at the grey’s lack of manners. The least he could do was say thank you! He waded out of the boggy mess in a token gesture of driving the colt away, but when he turned to see the fillies, they were gone! The colt huffed with indignation. Well that was charming.
He tossed his head and braced his legs so he could shake off most of the mud. Unlike the grey, the dun roan did not give much through to his appearance, so the mud would dry on him and stay there until it rained, he forged a stream, or it flaked off and left his coat naturally.
Now at a loss for things to do, Omeo did a little victory buck, then spun westward and set off at a quick (and slippery) pace. Perhaps he could spot Alinta this evening, before he headed northward to higher country. He had just won his first fight, and he was feeling adventurous.
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