Two Rivers Isle spikeroog

It was not uncommon for another wolf to catch sight of Troy and step up to the plate with cocksure swagger — for glory, dominance, gloating rights.  After all, the man was massive and defeating him in battle was certainly something to brag about.  Yet something about this encounter was different; just existing had seemed to get the wiry yearling barreling towards him with insults in tow.  Later it would be unsettling; for now his focus was on the fight.

The karhu's wide-set jaws found purchase at the man's left shoulder, but were met with a flash of fangs as the stranger's teeth razed against his muzzle, raking down the scars that had been formed by previous opponents.

This wasn't his first rodeo, but he suspected the same of the boy.  While the bite was intended to be just that — a warning — the vagabond's actions required more.  Troy's grip slipped slightly as the seafarer turned to bite, but he had prepared himself for this.

He dug his paws deep into the ground in a steady stance, crushing the snow beneath them to maintain a firm grip before pushing all of his weight forward in an attempt to knock the stranger over and dislodge the ivory man from his face.  Spittle collected on his lashes as they both held fast, blood trickling down his muzzle.