Sleepy Fox Hollow piltover

grey steel meets damascan bronze. uzumati sizes his opponent up, a haughty toss of his mane as they circle. 

the mares are not yet visible, but he can smell them — and another irritating scent he’d be sure to take care of once his claim is secure. 

somewhere nearby a bird is losing its shit.

big boy comes down like a juggernaut in front of uzumati. all tophat and no canter. 

uzumati answers with a heavy thud of his own; gavel to stone, tail snapping to his flanks. 

he presses forward, arching his neck to touch muzzles with his opponent; to drink in the smells of what he’s drank, eaten, and fucked in the last day. 

his cylinder body all the while crowding the bachelor’s space with just enough room to suggest he’s ready to spin and kick at any moment.