Sleepy Fox Hollow piltover

kiss or kill distance, they call this --

uzumati's barrel trembles with excitement. they almost mirror each other. for each of his movements the crinian-steel steed parries. before long it will come blow to blow. kicks will be exchanged, new scars cutting up on old hides, and the smell of dust and blood comingling.

somewhere nearby the soft murmur of mares. not one scent or two but four now; his! his to claim if not for this irritating gnat at his side...

when the giant swerves his hind end (an act of total warfare in uzumati's eyes) towards him uzumati answers in the way his kind knows best.

he grunts as he brings he head below his knees in not one -- but two -- terrific double-barreled kicks. each hoof singing from under his muscular body like .50 caliber bullets from a howling chamber.

but he is not done. he backs up now to close the distance with his ears pinned and muzzle taut - neck inverted like a mule whipped too many times over cart; blowing, snorting, and waiting for the grey stallion to deliver his riposte.