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Against the strike of a hero at the apex of Fenian Cycle, even Gawain's prized steed could not win out. Lesser men would have dismissed such a blow as a wasteful impossibility, the differences in mass and stability too much to overcome, but Diarmuid was certainly no lesser being. The red-eared charger lurched forward, its front legs swept, and for a moment, Gawain looked as if he'd be unhorsed as well.

But Gringolet too, was no lesser steed.

Kicking up with his back legs, legs that could leap over impossible traverses at the behest of the ambitious boy-knight, the horse front-flipped, sailing high in the air. Gawain remained mounted the entire time, thighs locked tight against the sides of his mount as he swung a second time whilst upside down. Whistling of death, the polished longsword swung for Diarmuid's head in a very familiar fashion.

Cheeky. Very cheeky. Gawain's grin certainly could be described as 'shit-eating.'

Gringolet landed moments after that exchange, hooves crushing the pavement before immediately springing up, another charge in motion.
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