Fate. What did this child know about fate? He spoke boldly of wars and his own virility, and yet visibly struggled to restrain himself. In this alone his inexperience was apparent, and Riuk did not bother to attempt to suppress the sounds of mirth that bubbled from his throat throughout the youth’s grandiose speech. He was unbothered by the vague threat of something he was lacking and could never have . That could mean anything. Perhaps the pup had found a pretty pebble and stashed it in some secret hideaway.

So he wanted one more insult. Riuk would have been all to happy to oblige, but he was already in the air, jaws parted and aimed at a steely flank. This was meant to be no killing strike, but to land a hit while at the same time putting Riuk in a favourable position behind his opponent. It was a tactic he had used many times in battles throughout his life. He caught the youth a glancing blow, fangs scraping down the side of the torso, and was gratified by the metallic taste of blood filling his mouth. He landed lightly some distance behind the other, confident that this battle would turn out as so many had before – with him the victor, and this insolent boy reminded of his proper place.

But the youth was quick with his retort, unnaturally so. Riuk barely had time to regain his footing and turn to face his opponent before the ashen wolf was upon him, a flurry of gnashing teeth and pure, uncollared rage. He felt the sting of razor-sharp claws piercing his shoulder, and only by twisting sharply to the side was able by inches to spare his neck from the glistening fangs. There flowed his precious life-blood, so treacherously close to the surface, propelled at a reckless pace by the wild pounding of his heart. What was this creature he had mistaken for a boy-child? Never in any of his countless battles had he encountered a foe as fast or as tireless as this. The distance he had put between them with his leaping strike had been great; no normal wolf should have been able to close so quickly. And yet here the boy was, talons still holding their deep grip in the tissue of his shoulder, iron jaws demanding his very life.

Riuk knew that he had made the fatal mistake of underestimating his opponent, and that if his life was to be spared he would have to act now. Using his greater size to his advantage, he once more twisted his frame away from his opponent. With all of his weight behind the motion, the great wolf was able to tear himself free of the other’s grip. But the talons had bitten deeply, and they left a series of gashes in the flesh as he pulled away which immediately began to bleed. Crimson rivulets streaked their way down through his chocolate coat, dripping onto the leaf-littered forest floor. For a moment, perhaps two, the only sounds in the area were the faint splashes of his blood hitting the earth and his own labored breathing. The other wolf, infuriatingly, seemed unaffected by the clash. His breath came slow and even and, to Riuk’s utter fury, the traces of a smile pulled at the corners of his mouth.

This animal was unlike anything he had ever fought before – no doubt a product of the damnable magic that had suffused this forest during his absence. He had felt it in the very air of the place since his return, had even been struck by its furious power at the border of his old pack, and now it seemed that he had come maw to maw with a beast more beneficially touched by its presence. He could find no other explanation for the youth’s impossible speed nor for his seeming immunity to fatigue. Certainly an infusion of magic would help to account for the boy’s impudence. Though on the very cusp of adulthood, and apparently a position of great power, Riuk’s greater size and telling scars should have been enough to cow the younger wolf at least to some degree. But he had stood fast, made threats, and proven to be an adversary worthy of respect. If the same power that had torn apart his beloved Spring Grounds flowed through this beast before him, Riuk knew that he would be hard-pressed to bring him down.

But damned if he wasn’t going to try.

He hung his heavy head low, regarding the bristling, arrogant youth before him from beneath his broad brow. Amber eyes glowed with a fierce determination, lips parted and loosed a ferocious snarl.

“In all my years, boy, I have never encountered anything like you. I give that freely. The magic of this place has done something to you, that much is clear. I have taken down countless wolves in my many years as a warrior, but you? You are no wolf. You are nothing natural, nothing of this world. You are a tool of that goddamn storm !”

This last was spat, the words flung across the space between the two wolves like things tangible. At once the confusion and sorrow of seeing his Blossom so transformed gripped the very heart of him again and coalesced themselves into a terrible, blind fury. There was nothing he could do about the revolving purple storm that had taken his home from him, nor about the constant humming that now seemed to pervade the very air of the forest. But this animal before him, whatever it might be, was flesh and blood – this much he knew from the faint taste of copper that still lingered on his tongue. Flesh could be torn and blood could be spilled. If this wolf was a vessel of the magic had ruined his home and insulted him at his own hearth, he would see it destroyed.

Gathering his powerful hindlegs beneath him, Riuk prepared to launch himself once again against his opponent. But his wounded shoulder, forgotten in the reignition of his wrath, gave way under the shifting of his weight. The brute staggered to one side, exposing but for a moment a vulnerable flank. It was a slight error, and against any other beast he would have been able to recover in time. Against this unearthly foe, however, he knew that there would be no salvation.

. | . | . | .