<33
His opponent was fast and as Temeraire moved to strike at the male, his own staff was raised to block the blow. Temeraire hadn't had chance to practise with his knife or his staff and he had had very little training anyway. He was perhaps fool-hardy, a little too confidant and reliant on his temper to get him through. As his staff came up to block his blow, he gave another snarl. He didn't need this fight- he was more of a hunter than a fighter, but he wasn't about to let himself be walked all over. He'd seen the male rise from the bushes to take his kill and that had enraged him. The scent of blood, however, caused him to flinch. He hadn't wanted to cause harm, though the drawing of his knife had perhaps said otherwise.
The staff moved to deflect his knife and the move was so swift that Temeraire didn't have time to react. The males leg came up quickly and connected with his stomach. It was hard and fast, knocking the breath from him. Reflexively, he tipped forward, the air rushed from his lungs. The hard knock to his stomach caused spasms and he found that he couldn't catch his breath. Dropping the knife, he backed up. He wasn't able to breath properly and as such, the fight appeared to be knocked from him also.
"You were gonna take my doe" He wheezed, his empty hand now outstretched to ward off any further attack. He had no desire for this to escalate into something more dangerous than a few blows over a deer.
.fjds2 b {color:#fff; font-weight:normal;}
.fjds2 p {text-indent:30px; padding:0px 15px 0px 15px; margin: 0px 0px 5px 0px;}
.fjds2 {font-family:calibri; font-size:12px; color:#B17F49; line-height:15px; padding:170px 0px 5px 0px; border:1px solid #fff; outline:1px solid #000000; background-image:url(http://i.imgur.com/4VvI5.png); background-position: top center; background-repeat:no-repeat; background-color:#533910; width:480px; text-align:justify; }
</style>[/html]