Handy took a breath as he looked around, spotting the foot of metal that used to be the blade of his glaive. He picked it up by the small length of wood still attached to it, holding it like a makeshift sword he strolled back over to the dazed pony and rested its point at the tip of his muzzle. The crowd roared, the umpire called out another victory, and another green flag fell neatly into its slot. Handy had been expecting the prince to use his advantage to attack Handy from multiple directions from the start. When he didn't, Handy had figured it best to egg the prince on to continue attacking him directly where he could control the fight, a plan which had been working well towards the end Handy wanted. If he could not kill the prince, then public humiliation would have to do. He placed the glaive blade on his belt and stooped up to pick up a weapon whose weight was a little more familiar to him. One more victory should do it. Now the question was: should he break legs or ribs?