The Frost Pain - {Bonnie}

Winter's frigid frost still clung to the air voracious with its curling grasp that was cold, stagnant.  A brisk breath plumed across the snow-laden land and tangled with the looming fir's and sentinel pines; their shadow cast down upon the frail coverlet that broke beneath the weight of the burly buck.  Senlian moved with regality, lean sinew infused with purpose.  Each stride was swift and seemingly practised before it was even taken as if he danced upon the very ground that sustained him.   To some, the land was insufferable, a wasteland of snow and death where sprigs were far and few between - lush fields lacking in these trying months where the leaves were bare and stomachs rumbled.  Where it lacked resources, it offered protection against most predators that would sink their dripping fangs firmly into their flesh; they were liberated from the treachery of their kinsmen envious and close-minded towards their ways of life.   Here, they did not bow before the matriarchy as most others of their kind were keen to do for centuries come and gone.  It was no surprise now that he stood before the ebony woman then, his head held high and his vivid, gleaming eye as piercing and cold as the wind.   "Shall we?"  His query was stoic, aloof.  Emotions were as fleeting as the day-hawks that flew just above ever eager to sink their talons into the supple flesh of their next meal.  Senlian lowered his head until his neck was parallel to the ground; maw pointed in direct threat towards the Arklov matron that would serve as his sparring partner this day.  A pallid hoof dug into the snow, pushing it back as he flexed the taut muscle of his leg, as he prepared for the charge.

Some would say the Arklovian doe was reckless... Stupid... Mentally incapable of making good decisions. Bonnie wouldn't argue with them. Her dark pelt was a stain on the snowy northern reaches of Idris. Her body a petite bullet of honed muscle and rugged blood. She was made of the cold and stone, an amalgamation of generations of northern cervids, her ancestors building their genes to create the visage that stood before the warlord: A fearless doe, powerful in spirit and body, who would one day step up and take his place if he wasn't careful. She liked these spars with the dark man, enjoyed vexing him almost as much as she liked showing him just how quickly she was gaining ground on him.

Bonnie smirked and watched as he puffed up his chest, asking to get along with it. The end of his snout, teeth bared and prepared to chomp into her hardened flesh, met her vision and she braced herself, hooves wide and ready to strike at any moment. Unlike the warlord, she never had a pair of gleaming bone weapons sitting atop her head like some glorified crown. Instead, she had sharp hooves and fangs and the moxie to adapt and use them to her advantage. He, on the other hand, wasn't so intimately familiar with fighting with these much more permanent fixtures. It would be an interesting battle indeed. The scars that rounded the outer edge of her left eye tightened as did her glare. "We shall." Her voice was clear and cold. There was no emotion save for determination on her tongue or in her gaze.

She had always been as indomitable as the very fortress in which they housed.  Unwavering, steel-like resolution rippled throughout maidenly flesh alight with scars, those fleshly fables of her warrior spirit manifest for all to witness her courage and fortitude.  He could only stare in awe for a fleeting moment, that stricken emotion veiled behind his icy gaze as it traced over her defensive posture and he would release a slow, languid exhale pluming like a cloud of smoke from his nostrils.   It seemed that with each fervid battle the bull-headed doe was one step closer to laying him on his arse, an idea that did not settle well within the warlord's thoughts.  Determination, raw and unkempt, resonated throughout the rhythmic pulse of his breast as - like lightning strikes - he made the first motion of attack.   Pointed hooves thrashed against the ground in harsh, piercing thuds as they broke through the shield of snow that protected the cold, frozen earth below.  Many would consider it a hindrance but Senlian used the powdery ice to his advantage.  With head low, he would feign a charge sliding to his side last moment sending the snow flying to hopefully serve as a distraction as he fully turned, hind-legs bolting out like a loaded spring, the hair-trigger eager to send his hooves to meet the soft, delicate contours of her girlish face.  Senlian kept his head up for balance, front hooves planted firmly to prevent him from being toppled.

Attack:  Made a fake charge before sliding, hoping to use a spray of snow as a distraction before he'd try to hoof her in the face with his back legs.
Defense:  Head risen and front legs firmly planted to keep him from being knocked over.