War of StampedesEdit
They're swinging around the hill,
Screaming their name aloud,
Their hoofs pounding, raising,
An obscuring dust cloud.
No single hoofbeat can be heard,
Can be singled out, can be discerned,
From the thousands pounding, pounding,
The ground must be so badly burned.
Their battle cry grows louder,
They come at us with such speed-
In their own tongue, wishing each other,
Luck that they will need.
Their formations brilliant
Examples of synergy,
Their manes alive,
With elemental energy.
We snort. They cannot win,
We are too large.
Us Zebstrika and Blitzle,
Into the Rapidash charge.