xx The [C]hallenge

[banky]

xx Such A...

'The funny thing about facing imminent death is that it really snaps everything else into perspective. Take right now, for instance.
'Run! Come on, run! You know you can do it.'
I gulped deep lungfuls of air. My brain was on hyper-drive; I was racing for my life. My one goal was to escape. Nothing else mattered.
My pelt being scratched to ribbons by a briar I'd run through? No biggie.
My hooves hitting every sharp rock, rough root, pointed stick? Not a problem.
My lungs aching for air? I could deal.
As long as I could put as much distance as possible between me and the wolves.
Yeah, wolves. Usually starving, always bloodthirsty. Right now they were after me.
See? That snaps everything into perspective.
'Run. You're faster than they are. You can outrun anything.'
I'd never been this far from home before. I was totally lost. Still, my hooves crashed through the underbrush, my eyes scanned ahead anxiously through the half-light. I could outrun them. I could find a clearing with enough space for me to–
Oh, no. Oh, no. The unearthly baying of tracking wolves on the scent wailed through the trees, and I felt sick. I could outrun other equines, normal wolves. But I couldn't match pace with the small, amazingly swift and agile wolves used to track.
'Wolves, voles, go away, let me live another day.'
They were getting closer. Dim light filtered in through the woods in front of me–a clearing? 'Please, please...' a clearing could save me.
I burst through the trees, chest heaving, a thin sheen of cold sweat on my pelt.
'Yes!'
'No–oh, no!'
I skidded to a halt, my hooves backpedaling in the rocky dirt.
It wasn't a clearing. In front of me was a cliff, a sheer face of rock that dropped to an unseeable floor hundreds of feet below.
The wolves were yelping excitedly–they'd found their prey: moi.
I looked over the deadly drop.
There was no choice, really. If you were me, you'd have done the same thing.
I closed my eyes, lifted my head slightly...and let myself fall over the edge of the cliff.
The wolves screamed angrily, the trackers barking hysterically, and then all I could hear was the sound of air rushing past me.
It was so damn peaceful, for a second. I smiled.
Then, taking a deep breath, I unfurled my wings as fast and as hard as I could.
nearly twenty five feet across, dark black with a few white highlights, they caught the air, and I was suddenly yanked upward, hard, as if a parachute had just opened.'Yow!'
'Note to self: No sudden unfurling.'
Wincing I pushed downward with all my strength, then pulled my wings up, then pushed downward again.
Oh my god, I was flying–just like I'd always dreamed.
The cliff floor, draped in shadow, receded beneath me. I laughed and surged upward, feeling the pull of my muscles, the air whistling through my secondary feathers, the breeze drying sweat on my face.
I soared up past the cliff edge, past the startled trackers, and the furious pack leaders.
One of them, hairy-faced, fangs dripping, prepared to spring. I felt his gaze measuring the distance to my achromatic pelt. Not today, you jerk. I thought, veering sharply west so the sun would be in his hate-crazed eyes.
I'm not going to die today.'

I awoke with a start, rolling over to my stomach from my side. I gasped, my heart beating hard inside my chest. I couldn't help but check my pelt. No red scratches, no wings. I fell back over to my side, limp with relief.
I hated that dream. It was always the same: running through a forest, being chased by wolves, me falling off a cliff, then suddenly whoosh, wings, flying, escaping. I always woke up feeling a second away from death.
Note to self: Give subconscious a pep talk re: better dreams.
The sand beneath me felt soft, as it had molded to the shape of my body overnight. Rolling back over, I positioned my ligaments beneath me. Pressing against the beach I rose into a standing position. I shivered my pelt, freeing it of the sand. Taking a deep breath I cleared my mind, feeling strong once again. Today was special. Today I would fight for this beautiful island.
Pivoting on a hind hoof I trotted up the beach, my hooves churning up sand. Whipchord punished flanks, shooing off what few bugs there were. Alabaster pelt shone in the sun like a beacon, almost too bright to look at. Upon my left should was an unusual marking. Emblazened ebonite upon white was: A. If you asked where I got it, I couldn't have told you. But I warn you, it is not a brand that marks me a lesser. It is a symbol of strength. Don't underestimate me.
Suddenly halting I lifted my bulk into the air, front timbers attacking the air. Lifting my skull I released a thundering neigh; a challenge for this land. Landing hard I stomped, snorting. Now all I had to do was wait...

...Hardcore Bad Ass xx

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[Meg]

apollos
i see you on your cloud..

So the child was suddenly called upon. His auds flickered at the sound of a challenging neigh and he smiled to himself, thinking of the times another stallion had trodden upon his father's lands and called out. He remembered racing to the clearing to watch his strong father battle another. He remembered his heart racing and his blood pumping; and now his heart jumped to think it was his turn. His turn to defend his father's lands, and battle. Releasing a returning call, not quite deep enough, but he was only a kid, he accepted the challenge. Digging his talons into the ground, he paced for a moment. Now this was the time he needed to prove that he was worthy to uphold his father's land, and keep it in the family. If only the old stallion hadn't passed away when Apollos was so young, or if only Windago would have had his only son at an earlier age. With a snort, Apollos kicked out his back talons in flustration. Why did he have to have such responsiblities at his age. He didn't want to battle, he wanted to have fun. But he did want these lands, and to keep these lands and make his father proud, there came a time to mature and become a stallion.

Maybe it was now, when the youthy stallion matured in his mind. The decision to fight came stronger then the impulse to turn and run, like most children would do. Apollos was only three spins, not even old enough to pass sperm to impregnate a mare, yet here he stood upon lands that he owned; or rather, inherited from his father. The the thought passed through his crown, these lands weren't really his, not yet. He did nothing to get them, he hadn't earned them yet. The only reason why he was the stallion was because his father had died from old age in the winter time and left the crown to fall in his son's hands. Now Apollos; tall, lanky, handsome, and not proportioned with muscle had to take this strong responsibly upon his young shoulders. Poor him? No. It was time for him to face the truth if whether or not he was ready to be king.

Snorting, and stamping a strong talon into the ground; he spun on his haunches tore through the trees he had raced through since he was a baby. He leaped over the roots and fallen trees that laid dangerously hidden in the shadows, he had an advantage. He had grown on this land, he knew everything about it. The sand; he had learned to churn his hooves in it to keep from being tripped up when he was a babe. He was born here. This was home. A determined look crossed his features, he wasn't ready to loose it yet. He felt the shadows cease as he left the forest and the dirt became sandier; and he shuffled his 3 beat to a trot, his haunches loosening up. The beach was white washed by the sun for many centuries; but before Apollos was born there was a flood that caused the sand to be swallowed by the sea and the sand had turned yellow. Since then the sun had started to white wash it again, and it was almost blinding to look upon it. But when you had lived here since a babe, you get used to the blinding light as the sand reflected the sun. Apollos had another advantage. He slowed as he approached a stallion.

Nares flared as the angry youth realized he had little or no chance of beating this monster that stood as tall and as strong as his father was. Apollos looked upon the twirling feathers and long mane and tail of his own breed. Friesian. Only this steed was ivory instead of ebony, like many of his breed. He wrinkled in disgust at the thought of his breed being tainted white; because being ebony was in their proud breeding. Stop judging what his colour is and look at his strength, do you have any chance? His thoughts were cruel at the moment. He measure the guy up. This new stallion stood about 4 hh taller then he, and he should be double Apollos' age. The strength was incredible to look at, there was no strength in Apollos; and what little strength he had was in his legs from running. He had always been a sprinter, he was faster then his father, he remembered that...but there we go, rambling. Here Apollos stood before a steed that he had little chance of beating. So how would he take him down? He would just have to outwit him.

Apollos had lived here since birth, he had the advantage of the sand and the sun. Two things. Apollos was also very smart. He would have to outwit this bulk. With a cheeky grin, the youth looked at the stag in the eye. With a nod of his dial, Apollos' handsome vocals strummed out, "I believe your challenge is for my home? Am I correct? Because there are no mares left that you could possibly want; for the few I have seen are old and still weeping for my father." He let his vocals slid shut, and he paused, his talons resting a little in the sand. He shifted his weight to keep from sinking in the sand. His crown was tucked into his chest, and his eyes were narrowed as he gazed at the stag, studying him slightly. His muscles quivered, he didn't realize it, but since he had watched his father in every battle since he was born, he had subconciously developed a small sense of knowledge. And now, he would wait.

..looking down.

[banky]

xx Such A...

As the presumed leader of the land showed, the Friesian snorted. He pawed at the sand, churning it up. The ivory steed took a step to the side, starting a circle around the younger equine. He tripped, stumbling a step. Regaining composure he grinned, embarassed. But when he spoke, all emotions were dropped save that of a serious tone.

Yes, I be here to challenge you for your land.

Slowly he continued his circle around his opponent, looking him over. Banner punished flanks, cracking like a whip in the air. Optics never left the stallion, lest he try something. Of course, being the honorable czar he was, Hope's Rebellion would allow the challenged horse to respond before the fight began. Suddenly the stag tripped again, stumbling. But it was a ruse, meaning to draw the opponent in for an attack. Achromatic stag could recover swiftly.

...Hardcore Bad Ass xx

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[Meg]

apollos
one sad and lonely night...

There are many things that swarmed Apollos's mind right then, how he would probally never be the stallion that would please his father, or how he would never get to do the dreams he wanted. But they weren't of true, wolly value. Only what stood before him was of value. This tall mass of white that towered before him. Looking up, Apollos kept the male figure in his sight as the steed began to circle Apollos like a hawk. Around and around and around. What is this nonsense? he conspired in his mind. But instead of going against it, he moved his haunches to keep the stag from completely circling around him. Maybe it was because Apollos didn't want the stallion in the blind spot that all horses had, Apollos didn't really know what inspired himself to keep moving; but he allowed it to control his movements into smooth steps.

He watched this male, not like a hawk. He didn't merely watch the stag, he studied every small step and every twitch of the muscle. Every small movement seemed to be triggering small signals to Apollos's mind. The ears upon his own crown where flicked back and pressed down, his own eyes were slanted in what seemed to be an "annoyed" glare; he didn't know that his own posture was tall and proud as he side stepped every so often to keep the steed from passing behind him. He watched as a fumble caught at the steed's ankles and tripped his huge bulk up. Apollos' cracked a small grin to this, maybe it was then that it occured to him that he could win against this giant. Maybe it was then that he realized that size didn't matter, and sometimes the bigger they were, the harder they fell. He quickly wiped the small smirk off his kissers when the steed fixed his wrong, and Apollos thought it would be rude for the steed to catch his smirking about his trip.

This was Apollos' home. Why not use it to his advantage? He flickered his ears as he caught the words tossed into the wind to tell him that he was indeed right about the stag wanting land. The youth said no more; for Apollos had always been taught at a young age that words would distract you from your studies. It was better to be silent to watch and learn, then be talkitive and not notice small things that could make all the more of the difference. Apollos watched lazily, he could tell this stag was waiting for the first move to be from himself; but yet Apollos thought this foolish. Why would you wander into another steed's land and think that the leader would choose the first move in the game of chess that you decided to challenge him in? He clicked his tongue softly, waiting for a sign. The stallion continued to circle him, and Apollos continued a small side step to the side; loosening up his hips it seemed. Audits flickered at the sound of a banner being lashed against hips. At that sound, Apollos let a small snort leave his nares to it the air; almost like a sigh. He may seemed relaxed, but the story was told different in his body. Truely, Apollos was forming a plan in his mind that even he didn't know how to go about in doing. Apollos didn't know how to fight! Then what is this game that is being played in his mind, allowing him to realize what to do to counter his opponets moves?

Apollos saw the steed fumble again, and instead of stepping out of his way; he counter stepped the side. He invaded the steed's path as he was going to continue to circle around Apollos. If the steed were to continue to circle Apollos, he would have to swivel around and go in the oppisite direction. As Apollos stepped into the steed's path, he also made the steed face the sunlight; rather then keeping his back to it. So either well Apollos was now squinting into the sun, he could still see rather well. But the true question here is; would this steed be disabled by the bright sunlight in his eyes, not quite adjusted to the glare on the white sand, and spin to keep it out of his eyes...only to fall into Apollos's trap, or would he even be facing the sunlight? Had Apollos only set this trap into place without playing it right? Only the next move of the steed would tell him if he had played right. Knights. That was all they were in the chessboard of life.

...sittin' at home in a world of silence.

[Crow'sia]

OOC; So, something needs to happen here. -pokes-

[banky]

ooc//I'm sorry....I can't find the muse to write anything...and I don't know why...

[Crow'sia]

OOC; Happens to the best of us. Ye and Meg need to discuss your plan of action, and if it can't be solved, just find me ^^

[Meg]

so what is going on?

[Crow'sia]

Well, since you were the last to post in character, and there's been no communication, I'm going to award this challenge to Apollos.