Grover violently grasped his chest, sharply expelling the air that had been stuck in his lungs for an eternity. He swiftly hissed in a breath also, animatedly swatting away a claw that approached him too.
"Woah! Ya right in there, cub?" Griffy quickly retracted his arms, giving the hyper-ventilating Prince some breathing room.
"ONE YEAR! -ONE YEAR, TRAPPED FOR SIX CHAPTERS!" Grover madly yelled,
Griffy finally decided he had to restrain his majesty, before he would pose a harm to himself, "Calm down, Prince!"
"CALM DOWN?! -CALM DOWN?!!!" Grover screeched, desperately frailing in his Baron's hug, "IT WAS COMPLETE DARKNESS-! ALSO AN OVERWHELMING LIGHT, -I WAS A PRISONER OF MY OWN BODY, DRIFTING IN A REALM THAT MADE MOCKERY OF MY SENSE OF SELF AND REALITY! THERE WAS NOTHING, YET I SAW SO MUCH. NOT EVEN BOREAS, IN HIS INFINITE WISDOM, CAN FATHOM THE ETERNITY OF MY EXPERIEN-!"
"-Could I please continue with my story?" Danilo coughed, having stared unamusedly at the whole 'self-unactualisation'.
"Oh, please continue." Griffy widely smiled, still tangled in with his prince.
Danilo cleared his throat,
"Yes, my brother, Skorepadsky and I were marching towards a pitched battle... Only, that they didn't know it..."
Grover grasped again at the edges of the fabric that constituted their reality, "NO, NO! -NOOOOOO!"
"I had only joined him when he assured me that my wife, taken prisoner from the preliminary forts had been successfully ransomed..."
738ALB, near the Zapzhian capital of Kaiv
"These vile grazers will pay..." Danilo growled viciously, causing the cloud he laid on to shake from his unbridled tightening claws.
"You will get the chance, brother. For now, we must exercise caution and look out for any of their pegasus scouts." Skorepadsky assured while looking about. Glad that he had chosen to position themselves atop a hill, quite elevated too, to spot any counter reconnaissance units.
"Speaking the obvious again, huh?" Danilo leered, "Don't worry none, I got my flock all around, sniffin' and snuffing out their glorified flight students." He flashed a confident smirk.
"Careful now, we don't want them to put their guards up, do you?" The Hetman chided, "...Be too successful, and they'll stop sending scouts-,"
"-And they'll act like cornered diamond dogs. Yeah, I know." Danilo rolled his eyes, "Have some faith in me, bro. At least, with all the effort you made setting my wife free to have me in your army, you should expect some competency on my part, right?" Danilo slapped his brother heartily.
Skorepadsky returned a soft, half-lidded smile. "Yeah... I guess I was worried for nothing." He turned his head away, "Since it seems you're handling everything fine, I better get going."
Danilo loudly groaned, "Oh, come on~, stay put for a lil' longer. The assault isn't due until tomorrow, and we rarely ever hang out!... Ever since becoming the big leader."
"Ah... Sorry, brother, but my army needs my presence for tomorrow's great trial... They'll need all the assurances and confidence that they can get." Skorepadsky flashed a sorry smile, before turning to depart again.
Only for Danilo to suddenly grab his arm.
Skorepadsky shook roughly.
"Hey... By the way, brother..." Danilo stared ghostily into his sibling's eyes, causing the latter to involuntarily lean back.
Skorepadksy felt the sting of sweat permeating from his back and head.
He gulped nervously as the moment seemed to drag on, Danilo firmly grasping onto his arm, and without intentions of letting go.
"..."
Skorepadsky suddenly felt himself being pulled in, evoking an effeminate yelp to escape from his beak. A prompt second claw soon wrapped around his shoulders, joined by the initial one that had drawn him in, into a deep hug.
Unbeknownst to Danilo, his brother's eyes were wide in surprise as his were closed. He would dig his beak and cheeks into the soft, comforting plumage of his brother's shoulder.
"Thanks for saving my wife, brother." Danilo tightened his hug, "You-, -hah, oh, brother, -you can not imagine how shitty I felt when I heard she was captured by those fiendish vermins from the north..." He half-chuckled, "But I mean it. From the bottom of my heart, I thank you."
Skorepadsky softly ran his claws up and down his brother's coat, patting him sporadically while at it. "Yeah..."
"-And in return, I will bring victory! Killing those grazers like a cow to a slaughter', amiright?!" Danilo abruptly broke the hug to slap his brother's arm roughly, contagious laughter accompanying from his beak.
Skorepadsky resolvedly nodded,
"Right."
"I had lured their pegasus vanguards as planned, and had looked with glee as I found their similarly winged rearguards and shock Nimbusian elites followed en suite. The latter, probably out of exasperation, trying to save their foolish vanguard."
"They all better be fucking ready!" Danilo maniacally yelled, wind in his gaped beak, wings straightly unfurled to pierce through the air.
His lieutenant laughed back, his voice, though, distorted as they soared through the air. "Don't you doubt my order! This ain't our first time chewing these pony deadweights to dust!"
"We're about to find out!" Danilo barely pitched his wings, having the effect of suddenly turning him upright in the air, stopping him dead.
His lieutenant stopped as well, but he decided to perform an elaborate flip in the air to end up in the same position as his general.
They now faced the pursuing vanguards of Frail Spear's army, presumably the rearguard and prestigious Nimbusian auxiliaries close behind them.
The encroaching pegasi all had red-tints in their eyes, exuding an aura of utter doom, accumulating an unstoppable momentum to violently slam into the fleeing cossacks, leaving only a memory of scattered feathers behind.
Only, it would be their own feathers that would be plucked.
A shuddering horn blared, coercing the nearby leaves of frailing branches to dance while the very air inside the lungs of all that were close rumbled terrifyingly.
Hesistance earmarked the pursuers at that very moment.
There were few among them, 'veterans' or more accurately, 'survivors' who had faced a cossack horde before. They would all wisely hug their wings and dive to the ground.
The reasons why would soon be known. As the trees and hills began speaking Zaphzian.
"IF ARCTURIUS IS WILLING, WE'LL ALL BE RICH!"
The sudden predicament elicited dual immediate reactions.
The vanguard immediately peeled. Their infinite resolve and confidence pathetically melted away in their shock as they found enemies all around them.
They wouldn't get far, as squads of cossacks awaited in the air, hidden behind clouds, ready to dive and impale any isolated cravens.
The rearguard was far wiser, following their veteran's lead to dive into the air to join the quickly growing mass of vigilant bodies. However, some similarly fled, leaving themselves exposed while others were too slow in joining the main formation, creating several separate masses of pegasi that would soon be subsumed by the horde.
Finally, the elite Nimbusian heavy pegasi screeched to a halt, narrowly escaping the trap due to their distance. The forward-most units briefly retreated to regroup with their strung, still-following columns to hopefully organise a counterattack and breakthrough to the survivors in time.
For now, the cossacks predatorily circled the main 'pocket' of resistance, rotating an endless round of haphazard volleys from bowstrings and black powder. The progress would be determined by those further back from the intensities of screams by the pitiful defenders, hit by lucky tips in their comparably undefended necks and thighs or taken breathless by a stray iron ball of a smoking musket.
The occasional sound of ricochet or a brave go at a chaotic breakout broke the satisfying sound of suffering ponies, but the concentrated bliss would soon not to be.
Several obvious gaps in the air, accompanied by a sudden warm updraft confirmed the resolve in the desperate pegasi. Those still uninjured or reserving a second wind immediately took to the air, utterly disembowelling and mincing the sparse griffons hovering to cover the wide gaps.
This was in no way centrally coordinated, instead, independent groups of pegasi escaped to whatever gap they could immediately see; a pair at first, then a small group, until any still capable pegasi around them joined them in an irregular line of desperate survivors.
A horrible mistake it was, to follow their instincts.
The thin columns proved vulnerable and outright savoury to the relentless eagle-lions.
The most elite flyers of the cossack army was still in the air, their beaks, claws, weapons and armour absolutely soaked in blood and bodily parts of the pegasi's vanguard comrades. Some of the griffons even still, held the spears which they had skewered the cravens with; the horror-stuck heads, some still even with helmets, displayed chillingly with one of either eye sockets the unfortunate holster for the polearms.
It was these terrifying reavers that dove into the exhausted escapees.
There would be little survivors.
As history alluded, the relief force only came, for this case, in the form of Nimbusian auxiliaries, only when the severed heads and wings of their comrades littered the battlefield.
"DRIVE THEM BACK TO THEIR CAMPS!" As it also alluded, the commander, being Danilo, ordered his blood-crazed, high-morale, victorious warriors.
"NIP THEIR TAILS! SLASH THEIR WINGS! -AND JAB THEIR NECKS! LEAVE NONE ALIVE IN OUR TREK!"
The elite, obsessively trained Nimbusians, the very same which passed the culling Trials of the Cyclones, and their prowess was honed as a means of deterring an existential threat, would've normally held their grounds, regardless of the odds or the futility, only so that their reputation would not be tarnished, and not dishonour their fellow Nimbusian warriors.
But this was different.
The Nimbusians saw the cossacks as a kindred spirit, but in prowess and zeal only. They, like all the Eastern Riverlanders still saw them as marauding barbarians; a collection of creatures without reason, meaningful culture or a proper sense of statehood. But they were inimitaly familiar of the cossack's martial abilities. They were targets of it countless times.
This made them hesitate. Unthinkable, but some of their ancestors had been bested by them before, and they had not wallowed in despair at their own cowardice, but the enemy's respectable strength. Maybe they could too, to their children as well?
Many of them were already wheeling, but the noticeable standard of the Nimbusian auxiliaries flipping finally informed the warriors of their collective intentions.
Not for the first time, the Nimbusians fled. Honour be damned, the helots back home needed to be repressed, and their children nurtured. They weren't dying today. At least, not in the name of Frail Spear.
Danilo would cheer in exhaustless exuberation.
Glorious day!
GLORIOUS DAY!
"Mercy! Mercy, PLEASE!"
A thunderous axe overshot into the earth below.
A splurt of blood followed, alongside the thump of a loose head.
Butchery was the order of the day.
Systemic extermination would've been comparably a lighter regime.
Fragments of shattered horns lay sprinkled sporadically in localised spots all across the battlefield.
A progressive touch, if not for the brutality, as the cossacks cared very little of their worth as ransoms to their rich noble families. They were too bothersome to fight, so why not encourage the rest to not, by killing them?
Feathers, too lean and short for it to belong to a griffon, also littered the battlefield, albeit, less locally. But most of it was a fair distance away from the destroyed camp, at the sight of a certain ambush.
The earth ponies of Frail Spear's army were less subtle or poetic in the symbolism of their defeat. Their presence was known with the mountainous piles of heads, leaking profusely still, like a grotesque fountain turned into a monument glorifying death, fiendishly calling upon the heretical attention of Maar, its witnessing of the cruelty and the thickly miasma, tainted with madness of vainglory warriors, undoubtedly bringing it pleasures of untold scale, corrupting the souls of all that did not amuse their better judgments, marking them for an eternal bout of torture.
Treasures of the royal tent and the lesser nobilities had swiftly banished. Much like Frail Spear himself.
The carriages carrying the total wages of the Jerzagrad excursion had also been seized, its contents disappearing into the private claws and pockets of the cossack's endless, ravenous hunger.
The army's various civilian followers had already scattered, presumably to be kidnapped and turned into some lowly peasant's lowlier slave.
The screams, jeers and periodic duels for the possession of a commonly discovered booty continued ceaselessly.
Blood continually ran fresh in the great plains of Zaphzia.
Danilo was all smiles.
Glorious day!
"Cheer up, brother! These Jerzagrad swine aren't coming back any time soon!" Danilo slapped a contemplative Skorepadsky enthusiastically on his shoulder, "With such a total defeat? They'll be mad to send another one of their 'field trips'!"
"Sir! I bring you message from Frail Spear... Alongside a heavy wagon." A lieutenant smiled knowingly, slapping the roof of the said loaded carriage.
"Hah! -See, brother? That Frail piece of shit has already sent us an offer of peace! Alongside a mighty tribute!" Danilo rushed over to the side of the supposed loot-cart, only to be side-stepped by the lieutenant with the aforementioned closed letter in his overstretched claws.
"Ah-ah, General. Save the best for last, right?" The lieutenant waved the letter in front of Danilo's beak.
"Ugh, fine." Danilo snatched the letter in one smooth stroke, and boredly ripped the golden string keeping it closed, lazily tossing it over him.
Clearing his throat, he suddenly entered an imperious pose, reciting the letter most nobly... And mockingly.
"From the Noblest, most grandiose Prince of Jezagrad, Grand protector and ruler of all ponies, Descendent of the gods, and the legendary Spears'... Blegh, dribble... Blah, blah... Ah, there we go. Frail Spear." Danilo gave up half-way.
"I have seen your recent-most conducts, and have been most unfortuitessly been affected first-hoof by them. And I am the least amused." Danilo squinted at the lines, "What a sore loser, amiright?" He chuckled, followed by several of the soldiers and lieutenants who had been listening.
Skorepadsky remained silent.
Wiping a stringant tear, Danilo continued, "...You had guaranteed our safety during the negotiations you, 'Hetman' Skorepadsky, yourself had proposed! Yet, like the savages you are, but desperately trying to prove not to be, have reneged it, and fell'ed upon my unexpecting army, successfully destroying it..."
murmurs began to manifest.
Danilo begins to shake, "Unfortunately, my only recourse for your great, and unforgivable treachery, Skorepadsky, is to punish the innocents you have heartlessly loaned me in guarantee for your so-called parlay."
A sneaking, greedy soldier unlatched the hinges of the enclosed cart, swinging it wide open like a two-doored casket.
In ominous justice, a pile of griffon heads rolled out.
Skorepadsky, the Villain, looked away shamefully. His ever-present frown, one I only realised then, he had worn throughout the entirety of the campaign since starting, now, it finally dawned on me, it looked depressive.
I remember my mind being clouded with rage; my body acting completely in instinct, and as it were, my peripheral systems found the need to immediately accelerate into my brother, and tackle him to the ground.
.
.
"WHAT DID YOU DO?!"
"What had to be done."
End of flashback
Grover paled, "I remember now... He was captured and returned to the capital, where the nobles voted to execute him, for lying to them and getting their children and wives killed..."
Griffy paled as well, "Holy shit... So none of those hostages were captured by that little shite, Frail?!"
Grover blankly shook his head, "I also remember another detail... The one who killed the Villain Hetman, Skorepadsky was... His own brother."
"..."
Pavlo had already crept up to his adoptive father and was hugging him.
Griffy had chosen a great moment to develop situational awareness, and subsequently, had shut his beak. Giving, the pair as much silence as they needed.
"...My mind had still been clouded with fury... And I'm still somewhat am for what he had done to me... What he had done to countless others too, and their families..." Danilo began to sag, and started leaning on his son.
"But the guilt of his blood on my claw soon overwhelmed me... No matter how evil, he was still my brother for boreas's sake! -And... -And I can't rightly explain this... But I had spent my entire fledgling life with him... He had been there, with me at my hardest times, and the bonds created mutually helping eachother created nothing short of what can be described as love." Danilo sorrowfully recited.
his son hugged him tighter.
"He was my same blood. And I had slain him without a second thought. I hadn't even bothered asking why! Or even if he was sorry! -Or hurt as much as I was!... I rid myself of a chance of closure, as I dug my blade into him repeatedly. Without mercy... And even a satisfied grin on my beak!" Danilo snapped upwards, hiding a tear that threatened to roll down his cheek, instead redirecting it up and over.
The three listeners in the room rightfully remained silent.
"I... I had decided after a haunting two decades from the ugly battle of Kaiv that I should return there..." Danilo covered his eyes in shame for what came next,
"I had thought it would've been better if I had just perished in the field of honour... And began perhaps thinking... Quite foolishly... That it wasn't still too late..."
Grover somehow became paler, while Griffy loudly gasped.
"Only... for a distant cry to catch my sword."
He liked to think that he hadn't completely lost his mind yet.
"A cry! A cry of a fledgling!" He swore he heard, madly flying around the great blossoming plain of red poppies.
He heard a burst of the same wails from before, again, making him immediately snap towards the source of the noise and dive.
Why was he even doing this? A sword, buried deep in the tall grasses from its initial drop would wonder, watching its master disappear into the distance.
Danilo carelessly dove into a tree, smacking himself painfully on a sturdy branch as he madly followed the sparing bursts of an ever-weakening cry of a fledgling.
It was then, that he found it.
A pegasus foal, wrapped beautifully in cloth, resting in the picturesque form inside a quaint basket atop an antlered branch.
"...My wife wished to name our first child Pavlo. After the deity of compassion that her family locally followed..."
Pavlo leaned into the claw that pampered him, further messing his mane.
...
"Hey, not to break the heart-warmin' moment, but do y'all also hear that?" Griffy pointed at the entrance of the tent, which was, indeed, spilling sounds reminiscent of a ruckus outside.
"No fucking way." Grover angrily rose from his elbows and marched towards the flaps. There was no freaking way they were gathered ag-
A third crowd of soldiers were gathered again.
Grover abruptly closed the flaps.
He smoothly turned. "How?"
...
...
...
Griffy merely shrugged. "Ask them."
...
With a deep sigh, Grover exited the tent.
"WHAT ARE YOU ALL DOING HERE?! I TOLD YOU TO DISPERSE!"
Hesitant murmurs followed.
"Well... Some of us wanted to see if there really was a pony in the royal tent!"
"That's none of your business! -Also, didn't you all see already?!" Grover spluttered.
"No, 'cause some of us were at the back!"
"Some of us still are! -I want to see!"
Fucking. Of course.
"So... About that duel, colt." Griffy merrily asked, brushing past Grover with Pavlo in tow.
"Sorry, I don't fight the infirm." The colt sneered,
"I'm not old!"
"-And I'm not little!" Pavlo snapped.
"Is that him?"
"Of course it's him! Do you see any other pony here?!"
"Let's not try to take away the last thing Danny cares about, hmm, Griffy?" Grover lazily eyed the petulant Baron.
"What are you saying? -That I'll lose to this bustard?" Pavlo cackled.
Overlooking the arrogant colt, Grover continued, "We need somegriff with a little more restraint." He briefly turned to his commander, "No offence."
Griffy, in a rare show of maturity, nodded promptly. "None taken!"
Danilo peaked his head from the tent, "Is anygriff going to ask for my opi-?"
Grover plucked out a guard of two, that still stood defending his tent, "You there, Guard!... -What's-your-name? Go easy on the colt, will ya?"
"Peter Hagendorf, sir...”
Grover wore a wide smile, "Nicely met, Peter. Meet Pavlo, Pavlo meet Peter."
Pavlo appraised the familiar face.
"Didn't think I'd end the day by fighting a bed-warmer, but whatever." Peter heftily shrugged,
Pavlo's eyes twitched, "Oh, I'm gonna enjoy smothering that beak in mud..."
Danilo rubbed his face in indignation in the background, "For Boreas sake..."
"FIGHT! FIGHT! FIGHT!" Griffy cheered.
"...Need I announce the rules?" Grover looked towards the two glaring competitors. "No? Good. Go nuts fellas."
Peter immediately drooped his halberd to grip its end, increasing his reach. Beneath his visored bascinet, he tore into a wide grin for the deed to come.
Pavlo meanwhile chafed in the heavy Herzlander armour. The fact that it wasn't even for a pony meant that were many chinks and gaps which his opponent could exploit. These factors were then all compounded by his unsuited fighting style. Pavlo had been trained to fight as a cossack and the infrequent pegasus auxiliary, which focused on agility and dexterity, rather the Herzlander's brutish strength and endurance.
This led to Peter scoring several jabs on Pavlo, although, the latter's smaller size gave him a natural allusiveness, despite the overemcumberedness, making all those jabs only scrape the curvaceous plates and occasionally jingle the exposed chainmail.
"It won't be shameful to yield now!" Peter jeered, still exuding unrelentless pressure with the rapid jabs of his halberd. "A cossack, no less a pony, ESPECIALLY not a colt can stand against a bloody Herzlander imperial guard!"
A loud cheer rung out among the spectators as Peter widely swung his halberd crosswards, his biceps clearly flexing with strenuous activity beneath the layers of heavy mail and plates.
The great displacement of air was audible, the powerful swing created a like-vacuum that sucked the cleanly shaved grass in a spiral, following the ghost of the already-occurred slash.
It was then to a certain old cossack's relief that the target had safely rolled away from the Herculean cleave.
Undeterred, Peter immediately raised his halberd over him, using the leftover momentum from the previous slash to thunderously smite the petite colt splayed before him.
The heavy edge of the axe instead only met the soil, shaking the earth from his mighty force and shuddering those who stood on the crackling ground, caving in a sight most resembling the saltiest drought.
Pavlo had narrowly jumped out of the way from the undeniably fatal guillotine, but his reward would be the least from respite, as Peter, confirming the fabled reputation of the exhaustless imperial guards, immediately took to sending a flurry of jabs again in his opponent's way.
"He-he's going to stop, right? This isn't a fight to the death, right?" Danilo sputtered to Griffy, then to Grover.
Griffy shrugged, "He knows the rules. He'll stop before it gets too bad," He assured with a smooth smile.
CRACK
The round visored bascinet of Pavlo's crumpled from the direct impact of the halberd's point, sinking deeply until the beaks of the spear found purchase, hooked onto the creased metal, rooting the wearer in place.
Peter finally revered that one of his jabs had finally sunk and not ricocheted from the curved sides of the visor. He tightened his grip on the haft, and using his immense strength, began unbelievably lifting the stuck visor and the attached pony slightly off the ground, despite the great complaint of gravity of physics.
He sucked in a dramatic length of breath,
"UUU-RAHHH!"
Pavlo bounced from the impact, like a skipping stone, he was sent rolling across the field, repelling the gathered spectators in a rigid, but soon, drastic wave to give the young contender his space. Not out of respect mind you, as the loud cheers for the imperial guard made it clear.
Danilo lunged towards his sprawled son...
Only for a firm and incredibly strong claw to grasp him still.
He hostilely turned... Only for a second claw to firmly clasp his beak shut.
"Damn! How much did you train this colt, you old maniac!" Griffy chuckled absently, ignorant of his Prince restraining said old griffon.
Danilo immediately turned back around, ripping Grover's claws on him. The latter grumbled.
He gaped at the sight of his colt surprisingly relatively unharmed.
Pavlo leisurely shook off his armour, and in one swift motion, unbuckled his damaged helmet which pathetically fell beside him with hints of blood faintly smeared over the inside of the visor.
He bitterly rubbed his muzzle, feeling it with his un-gauntleted hoof to ensure it hadn't broken. Finally, with a cool bloody spit, Pavlo called out,
"Round two mother-bucker."
"He had spun to redirect the force." Somegriff inwardly muttered.
A wild cheer rang out, the loudest among them, still being Griffy, "THAT'S WHAT I'M TALKING ABOUT! GIVE 'EM TARTARUS!"
Peter broke into a manic grin, still hidden by his visor. "Perhaps there would be flory in defeating you, colt." He rumbled.
"Colt, am I now? I'm seeing some improvements." Pavlo tossed the blade that he had yet to unsheathed on the ground, instead biting down on a shorter halberd wrapped on his barrel. He also busily wrapped cloth, lined with chainmail around his right hoof.
"Bed-warmers tend to not have martial training... Except for those sly Aquileans." Peter menacingly inched towards the busy colt, who was also by then quite done with his preparation.
"Oh? Are you a traveller?" Pavlo said while muffled, twisting his halberd so that the beak would be horizontal. With his covered right hoof, he pressed on the edge of the blade, keeping it further still. "Then have you heard of the Riverland's jousters?"
Peter didn't stop from his meticulous approach. The opponent before him was completely exposed, had an open stance, and even had his wings widely displayed which absently flapped in the air.
Yet he was entirely confident, pure determination overflowing from his eyes and a posture, so awkward, but still so elegant and practised.
Peter began feeling uneasy.
Others around him couldn't absorb the atmosphere.
Still, he bravely rebuked, "Sounds exhausting. Perhaps you can tell me what it is when you're in the infirmary."
Pavlo saw the opposing halberd rise. He didn't even have time for a clever rebuttal.
The griffon, twice his size furiously began jabbing again. Except, with this widely differing results.
Pavlo had always been staggering backwards while Peter inched forward with his jabs, ultimately resulting in his forward-most features being the only target for the sharp point, which was the visor's peak. So with his muzzle bare, one would expect Pavlo to be scraped and further bloodied, however, his lightness finally allowed him to fully utilise his strengths and training.
Peter quickly realised, even with his visor limiting visibility, that he was only brushing air.
The gathered crowd, many hovering, cheered again for the fighters. This time though, for the other's main sake.
Not one to be easily provoked, Peter-,
A dagger neatly entered the slit of his visor.
There was a blood-curdling scream.
A loud "OooH!" rang out among the spectators, many cringing in shared pain.
"Oh, big woop! I didn't hit his eyes!" Pavlo snarled, his entirety covered in sweat.
Peter indeed, blank under his visor with both eyes. As his burning pain receded, he finally felt where the dagger must've landed; narrowly missed his left eye.
Easily, he retracted the faintly bloodied dagger, revealing only its tip to be encased in the precious stuff, thanks to the design of the visor.
"-You LITTLE SHIT-!"
Peter looked up from the dropped dagger, only to see the blurry launch of the tricky colt towards him.
In his brief peripheries, he could see the awe-struck faces of the spectators, the displacement of grass in a far distance away, which the colt must've jumped off from, in the time he was distracted.
Instinctively, Peter had raised his halberd to skewer the petite flyer.
However, with eye-watering elegance, invincible to those inexperienced, Pavlo twisted in the air with a swift shutting of his wings.
His coat brushed and was shaved against the rigidly held blade of the spear, his previously attained sweat lubricating his body to slide smoothly against the haft, pushing the edge far enough so that his flank would not be caught.
Pavlo's eyes shone with the single-minded goal to hit his target with the beak of his unwieldy halberd.
Peter immediately began sinking his head; his mind's protocol for self-preservation kicking in as he desperately tried to cover his chain-mail-laden neck with the much studier peak of his plate iron visor.
To many, this all happened in an instant, alongside the violent crash that followed.
Pavlo was sent spinning around the giant's neck, as his halberd had been held irregularly, and despite his right hoof's bracing, it wasn't enough to not throw him asunder from the imbalance.
Nevertheless, Peter was the one who absorbed the most force out of the launch.
A halberd was lodged into his neck, though, thankfully, the short beak had been the one to do so, after first piercing the thick layer of hardened leather underneath the mail.
Pavlo, performing a clever trick of aero-acrobatics, quickly regained his control in the air to dive beside the rude guard.
In a trained motion, he lifted Peter's visor and promptly placed a dagger on his bare, panting beak.
"Do-, huff, -you wield?" Pavlo dazedly sniggered.
Peter coughed, then wheezed in pain.
"Eh-, huff, -good enough." Pavlo tiredly sheathed his dagger.
He looked around at the silent crowd.
"-What?" He huffed,
"I didn't violate any rules did-?"
An exuberant cheer blasted from the camp
"YOU'VE got to teach me how to do that, Danny!" Griffy was hassling the old cossack again, as Grover saw off the last of the loitering spectators.
"Like I've told you for the fifth time, eager knight, only the pegasus can perfect, thereby, use that technique." Danilo groaned, trying, but failing to ignore the obnoxious baron who shook his shoulders.
"He's right, bustard. So stick to your dives while we have dashes." Pavlo jeered, cringing infrequently as his adoptive father appraised his brusies and cuts by gently nuduging them, making sure that none of his parts were broken.
Grover amusedly approached the scene, "That was all quite impressive, Pavlo... Really turned the tables on that one, huh? -Gave my soldiers a good show..."
"Don't have to tell me that I'm impressive!" Pavlo flashed a winning grin.
"Yes... Quite impressive that you retired one of my invaluable, House of Groverite, guards..." Grover leaned in with a squint at the pony, pushing Danilo to stagger a bit away.
Pavlo gulped,
"...Sorry?"
Grover did not relent, "Well, word is cheap. And I am a sucker for hefty reimbursements." He flashed a predatory grin.
Danilo raised an indecipherable brow, "Gold isn't a problem for me." He shrugged, reapproaching his son, "What's the price?"
Grover uproariously laughed, jolting both son and father, "You think I'm out for gold?! -Hilarious! You think I'm some low-life Vedinian Prin-?!"
"Alright. Alright, what do you want then?" Danilo raised both claws in the universal call for restraint.
Grover pointed a digit at Pavlo.
The colt at the receiving end of said gesture involuntarily shivered at the attention.
Boldly ignoring his wiser instincts, Pavlo sputtered, "What? -Spit it out!"
Grover split into a maniacal grin.
"You'll take his place, by my side."
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"Eh, I expected that."
