There is no giving up despite how hard this creature fights back. His snarls give way to my own and there are moments when those teeth of his prick through my fur to stain my skin with blood. I don't stop - I was not made to stop. I press him forward, crowding and slamming, and each time he gives way and turns and runs and I chase. The clashes are tiring and I will be sore by the next morning for sure. Wounds dot my neck and shoulders, the blood barely seeping through my fur, but I don't try to reason with him. Maybe I should. Maybe, though, I kind of like this between us. This tension, this fighting and snarling and primal urge to combat. I would be Mercenary of Spirane even if it took a bloody neck and a sore body. Each large paw presses firmly in the ground as we slip away from the trees and around the edge of the meteor valley, my body zooming to block his anytime I thought he might try and take a detour down it.
He is savagely ugly, I think. It is a rather dull thought, not meant to be disgusted, and it fascinated me. What had happened to him? He was a tough shit, I'd give him that. Not easily cowed. I almost doubted the veracity of my decision to choose him as we neared the towering mountains and the thick pines. Would he be more nuisance than benefit to Spirane? Sometimes one had to take risks though and I could only hope mine would pay off in the long run. I dash towards him again with flattened ears and no snarl, trying to force him over the boundary that Daenery's had placed with her scent, refusing to allow him any moment to balk to turn back around.
Only once his paws crossed that barrier did I fall still, letting him put distance between us if he wished.