Zharko watched his opponent launch himself from the top of the rock. Snarls matched Thorne’s silent attack. Just before dark paws would land on Zharko the small creature twisted. It may have exposed his belly to attack, but it placed him directly under Thorne’s own stomach, throat, and soft undersides. With as much ferocity as the pup could muster, he ripped and tore at the other boy with his fangs and claws, seeking to throw him off or cause any amount of damage he could. He was so focused on his own attacking defense he did not notice the teeth that ripped at his own flesh. Scores of red appeared on the bridge of his nose and across his cheek. A yelp mingled in with his snarling threats, a lower part of his ear being torn by yearling teeth.

He knew he couldn’t win, but Zharko dearly hoped he could at least survive. Biting and snapping the whole time, he tried to wiggle himself out from under Blackthorne’s body, struggling with tooth and claw the entire time. Finally he twisted himself out from under his foe. Fuzzy hackles raised, Zharko paced back and forth in front of Blackthorne. His body was lowered in defense once more. His teeth bared, though his tail tucked firmly between his legs in submission, but still he would stand his ground. He knew the other pup was bigger, stronger, in every way his superior. He would win this fight without effort, but Zharko still maintained he had rights to his life and the ground he walked on.