She seems confident, worth her rank, though I have yet to see if she truly is worth what the new empress has given her. Perhaps, as her words of pride slip off of her tongue, she is what she says she is. I know better than to underestimate even the smallest wolf, that even the weak have moments of strength and through these lessons of life, I have learned several things. First, every wolf is equal in a fight. Second, the measure of a wolf is not how big the wolf in the fight is, but how big the fight in the wolf is what is important. Her boastful claim is only going to be measured physically, and as she squares off, I give a simple "We shall see," even as she makes her lunge for me.

She drops her head as my hind end raises out of the dark and mossy earth of Iromanian soil, my paws digging into the soft terra to remind me of home and of Baphomet, who was my sire and taught me the base of all fighting. As the Stygian comes for me, head low and body made for attack, I dash to the left on swift red tipped paws - movements almost dancer quality in their grace. The red browed female lifts her head just as my own clears her range, a giggle escaping me as my adrenaline spikes and muscles tremble in excitement. She nearly had me clip my tongue, and the effort was laughable at best. I keep moving, to the left and back as she snaps those jaws at my black chest, her fangs seeking my right shoulder blade. The skin there is easily blooded, though punctures would be a tricky thing to heal. Nevertheless, the aim here is to put marks on her as well, how better to do this than let her come into my range?

I halt my motions, letting the she-demon catch my shoulder blade, her fangs slicing through my flesh with all the fire and finesse of a hot, dull knife. Pain blossoms to bloody life on my shoulder as her teeth make contact, but nerve and a rage so fierce it deafened me kept me going. As she clamps her fangs down, I swing my open jaws right at her face, twisting my neck in an awkward angle to get at her eyes. My top jaw aims for the softer spot above her right eye, the knives of my lower jaw aimed for the softness below her eye. I want to leave some cool scars for her, so she can always remember me, and to let her know she will have to do better than a few holes to beat me. As she moves off, I hope my teeth have at least grazed her head. She goes out to the side, and I follow, my legs easily keeping the distance between us short and sweet as she tries for me once again.

Avery goes in for my legs, or so it seemed, but soon, her head is in my diaphragm. With a sharp oof! I exhaled all the air in my lungs, hind legs coming up out of reflex to try and hop over her head, though I most likely only succeeded in scratching her some. My own head spins toward her, with jaws agape as a deep ache takes over my chest, muscles burn with exertion and I find spots blinking in my eyes, though my paws keep moving, unknowingly avoiding the worst of the bite to my hock. As she makes her push, my body rapidly adjusts, though how is unknown to me. Reflex has me hopping as she thrusts forward, tail whirling behind me as I fight to stay balanced. I try and turn, twisting my frame around so that my hind legs are behind me and not over her head. Back paws dig into the soft earth as I root myself, jaws snaking down to grasp her scruff as my forepaws wrap around her neck and head, I aim a few pointed bites down her scruff.

I am thrilled by her tenacity, enthralled by the ferocity she portrays, but only time will tell if she has skill and mind, or if she is only brawn.