A Dare {R}

[{ Opal }]

Reserved for the Penala/Bultarro fight! P.S., I know it's short. x)

The rushing of the Murray River clamored in Bultarro's ears. The colt was standing on the river bank, letting the shade of the swamp gums rest upon his back. The river was not all that full, considering it was only autumn, but still it announced its presence as a formidable river; and after the quiet of the bush, it was hard to ignore.
Bultarro gazed idly across the expanse of water, his nostrils flaring slightly as they took in the fresh, clean scents it brought. It was midday, and the young stallion was feeling restless. He turned his head away from the landscape, crowded with water-hungry vegetation, and leaned down to nip at a bush. Whilst chewing, Bultarro swatted the flies off his back; he was glad winter was soon coming, and then he would be rid of those pesky bugs. He finished his mouthful, and sent it down his throat. With a quick snort, Bultarro trotted down to the river, his quick steps revealing his energy, which burned hungrily in his veins.

He went in up to his knees, then let the cooling water swirl around him. This he enjoyed this sensation, perhaps because it distracted him for a moment from the lethargic day that refused to match the quick pace set in Bultarro's head.
He stood there in the water, peering out from underneath his black forelock, letting the current tug on his tail. It was a calm day, so far without interruption from neither man nor beast, and yet Bultarro felt unfulfilled. He stamped an impatient hoof, let it splash cool water on his bay-and-white flanks. Bultarro felt ready for a dare.

[Rivre]

Penala had chosen the Murray for it's quiet, that and the fact that hardly any other horses grazed it's fruitless ground. Still, it was food enough for the pair - Warriwillah and him having spent one wonderful summer together, and now settling quietly into their pre-winter grazing. Penala liked the bay filly- now almost a mare- very much, so much so that his protective nature became more and more apparent when other horses came into his sights. He had no fear for her safety, nor a fear of beating another stallion in a fight for her right to stay with him; Penala fully trusted Warriwillah's determinded ways if he should ever fail to please her - she would surely be off and melt into the bush as carefree as he had spied her dam that spring he had stolen her away. He had no wish to keep her against her will, and so his ways remained the same, thoughtful and at peace until some hindrance came along and they wriggled their way out.

The summer had been a good one, as had the spring, a few showers of rain having brightened up the lifeless snowgrass, and leaving it perhaps as verdant as it had been in the younger seasons, not as sweet, but wholesome. Penala had filled out a bit too, now he was more muscle, leaner with clean long legs and a powerful stride; whereas Warriwillah had grown more into her delicate yet refined features, legs also long, stride quick especially in a heat. They had, had many a race since the one in which he had won her companionship. So far their days here had been unbothered, and after a while Penala began to believe that they would stay just as healthy this coming winter as he had in the last.

It was not too early one of these cool autumn mornings, when Penala felt a tingle in his limbs, a restlessness any stallion could recognise as a warning, a ceaseless energy that leant him a strong sense of purpose and beat any of his doubt away. Throwing chisled grulla head, he gazed pointedly out across the expanse of rippling water, having been stood a few horse-lengths from the bank himself he had failed to spy the young coloured colt through his gap in the foliage. For a moment he pondered as to whether he should leave the youngster be, allow him to slip away and fail to notice the pair of them. And then the tingling got stronger and ears flickered forwards - what if he did see Warriwillah? Would he want her? He had no room to leave for mistakes now, if other stallions came to realize his leanient ways perhaps they would all come to try their luck at stealing away his mares and fillies. But... He did not want to welcome a fight, it was not in his nature.

He turned to gaze quietly at the bay brumby beside him, who had surely noticed his discomfort, and in that gaze he realized he would do anyhting to protect her, anyhting to be the noble stallion her father, and even her brother had appeared to be. A splash alerted him to the young stallion's ever-nearing presence, and Penala answered with a stallions noble request to be left in peace. "Mares and fillies graze here, and I am their Protector." It was more of a statement than anything, but Penala had heard other, older stallions roar something similar, and although he had bent the truth a little, for it was only himself and Warriwillah here, he did not think it mattered at this time all that much.

[{ Opal }]

Bultarro was debating over whether to leave behind the cool waters or not, when he was jolted quite rudely from his thoughts. "Mares and fillies graze here, and I am their Protector." Bultarro jerked his head up, ears snapping back. The voice was deep, strong- a stallion's. Bultarro quickly recovered from his surprise, although he blew through his nostrils in a cross manner, for he had not at all enjoyed the unexpected interruption, and silently cursed his lack of caution.
He cast a critical eye toward the voice, peering through the vegetation. He eventually spotted the stallion behind the words, one with a smoky-grey coat. Bultarro could not get a good look at him, considering all the green between them, but the stallion had said enough with his words: he was probably middle-aged, probably of decent character, and if he spoke the truth he had several mares behind him. Bultarro's nostrils quivered as he sought their scent, but as hard as he tried he could only pick up on one young mare's aroma, besides the stallion's assertive odor.

And so Bultarro snorted, saying, "You lie. There is but one mare with you." With that he emerged from the river, his posture changing from tense to outright audacious, what with his raised head and high tail, the way he walked boldly toward the stallion's hiding place. It was the downfall of all stallions and colts in particular: the competitive urge to outdo others of the same gender. Bultarro, usually quite level-headed, unknowingly succumbed to this impulse.

As Bultarro approached, a flash of red caught his eye. He stopped, captivated by the glimpse of the pretty little bay. Jealousy spiked the adrenaline rushing through his body, taking away the last bit of reserve in his mind. A bugled challenge exploded from Bultarro's throat, the force of which surprised even him. He stepped restlessly back and forth, blowing loudly through his nostrils, whilst awaiting the emerging of the smoky stallion. Later he would regret his foolishness, and be shocked by his brashness, but this was his first true fight and he was caught up in the thrill.

[Rivre]

For a moment there was silence, and then came the young colts reply. "You lie. There is but one mare with you." Penala snort quietly, impatient to rid himself of this burden of a brumby, but the doubt he felt soon turned to regret as the young horse came high-stepping into their clearing, unawares of what he would now have to face. Summoning the vast amounts of energy he now felt, Penala stepped up to meet his challenger, whose call was wild but untrained and wavered a little despite its strong beginning. The colt was not too young, two or three perhaps, but this had given him little time to fill-out, whereas he had, had another year, maybe two to gain what muscle a stallion required to fight, not all, but most and it showed in the way it stretched beneath his shoulder and quarters when he moved. However, his opponent was well built for his age, and Penala shortened his stride to leave enough room for their fight to remain unhindered by the underbrush.

As he passed Warriwillah's bay hide, he turned to brush his nose along her flank in a silent promise, and felt the warmth of his pride float easily from one horse to the next, a connection. He could never loose her, that much was clear in how he felt - unbeatable - with her by his side.

Turning his attention back to the coloured, he felt his linaments fold into a frown of sorts, deep brown orbs hardened by the four years he had wandered the range. "You are a fool horse to have come here - any stallion can tell a lie if it protects their family. Leave now, this is your last chance." The strength of his last call was put to shame by the power with which he uttered these few restrained stentences, tones deep and emotionless despite the slight warmth he felt for his little filly that crept in unbeknown to him. His hooves were set like stone, but he kept his toes light on the ground, knowing that although he was heavy-set, he could also move quite fast for his size and it may come in useful to him this time around. So he stood, watching the very rise and fall of the others stature, so that when he made his move, he would be ready, if he did not leave on his warning.

[{ Opal }]

A flicker of doubt crossed Bultarro's mind as the grullo stallion appeared, emerging from the bush with a long and confident stride. He was muscular, well-formed; a dangerous opponent, for sure. A small voice nagged at Bultarro's mind, telling him he had little chance against a stallion twice his age, but Bultarro quickly rid himself of such uncertainties. He had already uttered the challenge, and he would not be such a coward to back down now.
As if sensing his brief hesitation, the grullo said to him, "You are a fool horse to have come here - any stallion can tell a lie if it protects their family. Leave now, this is your last chance." The initial insult did not affect the young stallion, rather rolling off his back, in the nonchalant way that sometimes baffled other brumbies. However, the talk about lying did not at all impress, for Bultarro considered the stallion's herd more safe if he admitted there was only one member. But it was not a time to debate, and so he said as he spoke three solemn words, "I will fight."

Bultarro suddenly realized that this meant the game was on. His muscles quickly tensed up, his body peaking in awareness and sensitivity, preparing itself for a grim battle. He knew the limitations of his body as well as its strengths; he was of sturdy build, fairly strong, with good stamina, but he doubted his speed and flexibility when it came to such a contest. Bultarro would have to be careful with this stallion. If he lost, he wanted at least to learn something from this first fight.
He stood squarely, facing the stallion head-on, waiting for the right moment to deliver the first attack. And then his mother's words surfaced in his mind: "When fighting, it is good practice to let your opponent act first," she had said to him. Bultarro made the decision to follow her advice, and he took a slight step backward, his ears flicking back as if with uncertainty. Perhaps he could get the grullo to make the first move.

[Rivre]

From the out-set it was obvious as to what the newcomer was planning. He hung back and from his now advantaged position, he would wait for him, Penala, to make the first move and disadvantage himself. Well no colt was going to outsmart him today - it was the younger horse who'd began this fight, he had chosen this path although offered an escape, he would have to initiate the first move, otherwise he would stand here for an entire day and beat him into the ground from tiredness. Sometimes, your body was your own downfall. Snorting quietly, but not with contempt - for once the uncertain figure that stood before him had been himself, afraid of the consequences of his actions, afraid to move at all.

Penala was only slightly aware of Warriwillah drifting off into the trees, but he was grateful that the young mare took the initiative and his lobes flickered to acknowledge it. Now that he had also chosen his standing in this particular fight, he could only wait for one of two outcomes, and both meant him staying alert to the others posture. 1) That the young stallion would get bored and begin the conflict or 2) he too would turn out to be as unchangeable and stubborn as a rock; if this was how things turned, Penala was sure he would leave the conqueror, after all he had a full belly of grass to sustain him - not that he didn't have the advantage in the fight, but he would rather forfeit injury this close to winter's clutches.

[{ Opal }]

After a few seconds, Bultarro quickly grasped several things. First, that this stallion was not easily fooled, and second, that his initial plan of executing patience was not to be. Dang it, he said to himself with a curse. Now that some of his earlier, all-consuming fire had dimmed, he was reluctant to just throw himself at the grullo. But, all the same, he was eager to test his prowess in a fight, and that is indeed what he would do.

Bultarro tossed his head, and all at once went into action. His haunches tensed, their strong, sinewy muscles propelling him forward, and with white-rimmed eyes and lashing forelegs he leapt for the grullo. His plan of attack was simple: he aimed to start the fight without putting himself too much at risk. He figured the grullo would not want to face his hooves, leaving Bultarro unharmed whilst he planned a more elaborate (and, hopefully, more successful) assault.

OOC: *gasp* so short!

[Rivre]

OOC: Haha xD Short is likely during fights - you should see some of my older posts ^-^"

For a few minutes they remained stood, squaring-off, Penala watching curiously as to see what path the young colt would choose. After a moments deliberation, the opposing muscle tensed and the dark grulla stallion's ears flickered back - so he chose to fight. His first attack lacked any sort of tactic, a short burst of energy wasted on flailing legs that would never reach their target. Side-stepping easily to the right, Penala swung his hind quarters round to aim a double-barreled kick at the colt's shoulder. It was not like himself to use strength alone to win a fight though and once the blow - whether it failed or sucseeded in landing - was dealt, he twisted left to avoid whatever counter he may recieve.

Pain flashed through his mind as the younster managed to somehow damage his shoulder also, and he pivotted with teeth bared to slash at the coloured brumby's forelegs. Snaking backwards and forwards Penala hailed his opponent with bites and kicks, gaining many of his own in the meantime. And whilst they fought, his thoughts slipped often to Warriwillah in the trees, watching this blood-bath unfold before her very eyes - it must end soon. With this thought in mind, he battled with a renewed vigor.

[{ Opal }]

OOC: haha, yeah I know.

Like Bultarro had predicted, the grullo made a quick step to avoid his lashing forelegs. But as he turned, readying himself for his next attack, a hoof suddenly slammed into his shoulder. Bultarro backpedalled from the unexpected blow; he had not guessed that the grullo could move so fast. But the hit, although bruising, was not terrible and he quickly shook off the pain it left.
Bultarro, his body and mind steeled by his first taste of the fight, wheeled back toward his opponent. A blur of smoky-grey signaled the grullo's next attack; with nostrils flared Bultarro reared back, narrowly avoiding the wrath of the stallion's teeth. He gave a quick kick with his fore-hoof at the grullo's receding head. In the fast-paced action, he failed to notice whether his blow had been well-placed. In the few seconds they separated, Bultarro did see a mark on the grullo's shoulder. Small as it was, it gave him renewed courage to know that he had given his opponent an injury of his own.

They came together again, in a crash of straining muscle and wide, crazed eyes. They exchanged both teeth and hoof, each delivering his own blow, but it was clear that the taller, older grullo had the winning edge. Bultarro was surprised by just how draining the fighting was, but he knew he would be in no shortage of strength.
Several bites upon his neck, a laceration on his cheek, heaving hits upon his ribs and shoulder. Grimly Bultarro looked at the grullo, who showed no signs of weakness; and why should he, when he bore only a few insignificant wounds? Bultarro quickly realized that his earlier notion of winning was but folly. He could have fought for much longer, spent all he had, but Bultarro was not stupid and he would not gamble any further.
He backed away, hoping that the grullo would take him seriously and not use this opportunity to deliver any further hits. He stood straight and tall, head up but no longer carried in the same proud way as before. "You win, mighty warrior," Bultarro said with a humbled voice. "Take your victory and let there be no more fighting between us."

[Rivre]

Penala could not deny the young horse fought well. He delivered some harsh blows, despite their slightly off landings, and the grulla heaved himself forwards again to rain another assult. Dark eyes flashing and ears pinned back, head snaked forwards again, this time quicker and more precise than the last, avoiding as best as possible the flailing hooves of his opponent to get a good grip on one slower moving foreleg. He had it in his teeth for only a moment, but managed to pierce the skin non the less, feeling it tear horribly under his jaws as he dived backwards, gaze glimpsing the garing cheek of the youngster. This was not a good fight, Penala felt it in his bones.

After a few more laborious minutes, it seemed sense had now entered the equation and the coloured backed off, clearly submitting to his superior strength. Penala dipped his head carefully, wincing at the pain that shot through his neck where his hide had torn a little, head ringing from the blow he had received and blinked almost greatfully at the defeated carriage of his opponent. "You fight well for your age - I wish you luck when leaving this place." He replied formally, watching the young horse's retreating form before turning away himself, greatful once again that the young horse had not lamed him as he walked towards where he knew Warri waited for him.