Another flyby told him nothing, but told the other creature even more. This time, it tried to block using the flat of the sword. White-Hair swerved at the last moment, however, and now it seems the being was in on his secret.

Even with the bad footing, White-Hair needed to attempt a long-term confrontation. He glided forward, till the distance between the enemies was nary another bound.

But the distance between them closed in an instant, and they were at it again.

White-Hair was not surprised to see it take a fully defensive stance, knocking all of his would-be lethal blows aside with ease. Now it very much realized one of the extents of his little ability.

The tempo of the dance grew faster. He spun around his scientific experiment in an attempt to slip at least a shallow cut in, and fruitlessly at that. This thing was timid about letting him come even a might bit close...of course, that did make sense. His own blades were a lot deadlier than the slow, unattractive weapon he was being so easily parried by...

Perhaps he did need more practice. And he needed to get used to the footing, as one slip-up could mean something pretty bad to his fragile body. Especially with his trump card guessed.

White-Hair noticed another thing during the time where he should not be noticing anything at all, save the enemy's vitals; the slaps of the blade were decreasing in strength.

At the moment, his frame was larger than the beast's, but it was more muscled. It should have been able to break his arm at this point. Unless it wasn't making a defensive offense, but also observing, quite possibly as deeply as he was, how he worked (although externally instead of internally). Everything about him was the exact opposite of itself. His timeless face, the way he moved, the immateriality of his body...surely he was a sight to see, and mental notes would be a wise thing to take, even in the middle of-

So thorough were his thoughts that he lost track of the battle and caught the blade's face with his own, with more force than anything the wielder had unleashed yet. Before the launching of poor White-Hair, he was able to slash an open spot of skin on the arm. And at that point, his thoughts revolved around how easily sliced open it was...before the pain hit him, and before he blacked out.

Not only was the initial cracking of his skull an eerie sound, but his entire spine screeched as it was launched, with his body, into a large desert boulder.

Blood seeped through his eyes, mouth, claws and talons, drenching White-Hair in crimson. How useful, he mused to himself.

It took him a moment, but he was able to stagger to his feet. The pain was bearable, and although he was not keeping his balance now from a perfect spine, it would not very much effect his ability to fight. He stretched out his wings for good measure. No broken bones there; he'd fly again. But not very long, with this horrible monster around.

Although he may have been a little disoriented from the blood loss...or, he was not a very good judge...because the thing's face shone with excitement.