Moonspear cymylau

There is a subtle change in the air, each year, that suggests winter is on its way. Perhaps a breeze, or the far-off flutter of many birds taking flight all at once. When one senses it, it cannot be forgotten. Year after year, autumn greets you with a kiss--

And winter follows it up with a cold, hard bite.

It is a cloudy day on the Moonspear, and Llewellyn patrols fervently. Hydra and Lyra have departed, evidently to find their sister. That leaves the pack down two capable warriors, which means he must step up in their stead. If he was zealous before, he is crazed with duty now. There is a determined glint to his gaze that hasn't been there in moons; he has hit his stride, again.

He does not know whether rain or snow is in the cards. Too soon for snow, perhaps, but he has been surprised before. The caches are not yet filled to his standards for a long icy season. So he begins to alternate patrolling and hunting, hunting and patrolling, until the day is nearly over and he has left a small trail of carnage behind, small game tucked away in a makeshift cache near the base of the mountain.

✴     Revui knows where every cache sits upon the mountain. He is known to frequent the easily accessible ones in order to dig them up and glut himself, but rarely does he take the time to fill them. It isn't that he is lazy, nor that he forgets that the caches are not just for his own gluttonous self, but each time he finds something to kill and stow away he finds himself eating that, too. 

He is lucky though. Today, after playing a short game of stalking with his brother Arcturus, he seeks out one of those caches and is pleasantly surprised to find it filled with fresh meat. The boy bows and begins to dig it up, but only a few moments later he hears the subtle but insistent beat of steps along the rocky path beside him. He stops and looks up, and as he spots the older wolf he lets out a boof of greeting. The appearance of company has stayed his hand, and Revui forgets about his nagging desire to snack as he sets his sights on this wolf. 

The boy does recognize him — he remembers the odd ring of mushrooms and the small pest creature that loitered among them. Revui advances upon Llewellyn and with an uncharacteristic dip of his forequarter, slaps his paws against the soil and barks, inviting him in to a game.


  

He glances over his shoulder at the bark. It is the burly gray child, full of energy. And an invitation for Llewellyn as well, to play. A boyish game, most likely wrestling, or perhaps a small hunt. A half-smile lifts his lips as he turns completely and trots toward him, gilded pelt billowing in the breeze. He bows low, stretching, bringing his gaze level with Revui's.

"Try and get me on my back," he rumbles, issuing a challenge. He keeps his paws light and nimble as he rises once more, dancing from toe to toe--yet he knows that not enough weight on the ground will allow the boy to knock him over completely. He waits for the challenge to be answered, eyes dancing with blue fire as he stares down at the pup. "If you expose my belly, the fight is yours to win."

But he knew that, of course--weren't all wolf children taught that?

✴       The game is welcomed, and then a challenge set. The boy is all too keen to show off his skills and it does not take long before he is moving closer to his intended target. Llewellyn may have given him some parameters but Revui was often pushing beyond such things — he didn't think about it, and that's where his problem lay. He typically left the thinking to Arcturus. 

He wasn't subtle in his approach either; as Revui got nearer, he banked off an abutment of stone and then charged with his typical style of battle. If he had been born in to a pack of his father's people exclusively then they would recognize the berzerker style and likely praise him for it — as it was, Revui merely used his weight to his advantage and did not realize the draw-backs. 

The boy charges, and once he's close he snaps his many teeth at Llewellyn's nearby limbs.


  

Did some rolls in Tabletop

There is little to no finesse; the boy uses his size to his advantage, charging forward with a full head of steam. It is not unlike the Bleddyn way of fighting, and he is impressed--but he knows that nuance will be key to the boy's future education. After all, the Bleddyns succeeded with numbers. When they were outnumbered. . .the sly and stealthy usually prevailed.

Llewellyn is quick enough to dodge the boy's jaws, sailing away, still on his toes. His mother's family sparred like this, quick and nimble, a delicate dance. It does not come naturally to his bulky form, but he still tries to incorporate it into his routine--variety is the spice of life, after all. Breathing slightly heavier than normal, he begins to pad a half-circle 'round Revui--

Then the prince darts forward, nose ducking to knock the boy off his feet. His balance is slightly thrown off, though, and he scoops empty air with his muzzle instead, coming up short. Puffing slightly in indignation, he wheels on his paws and continues the dance, waiting for Revui's next move. Perhaps it will suit him better to be on the defensive, rather than to strike.

✴        His efforts led to his opponent shoring up his defenses, which would make future assaults difficult. Revui still tried, and it took a few failed attempts to get him to calm the hell down and think about his next move. If this were a chess game then Revui would be six steps behind; it appeared as though brute force wasn't enough against someone older. Llewellyn moved with precision and never seemed to lose momentum, never wasting energy, while Revui was the opposite and was already open-mouth gasping for air. He wouldn't stop trying, but he was clearly not using his body in the most efficient way.

He is getting tired; Llewellyn doesn't need to look hard to know that. The boy is on the verge of collapsing before him, struggling for air. "Breathe, lad," he commands, sucking in a deep inhale himself. "From your belly, not your throat. Keep yourself steady. You're going to lose the battle before it begins, if you panic."

The prince stops moving so much, slowing down, standing still after a few beats. "Attack me," Llewellyn rumbles, eyes flashing. "The only way to get me down is to knock me off my feet. Find a way to unbalance me and I will be at your mercy. But you have to be calm--you have to be precise." He plants his paws, but only slightly; this is more of a lesson for Revui than a proving ground for him, as a teacher. He is more than willing to take the loss.

☼ The boy listens to the advice bestowed upon him but not because he chooses to; he's out of breath, and beyond the pounding of his heart and aching of his lungs, he hears what Llewellyn proposes. He doesn't like being told not to panic—he doesn't feel as if he is panicking, merely working his body. The thrill of the fight is what drives him and supplementing that is the feeling of his muscles getting tired, his lungs with their breathlessness, it all makes him feel so alive. He's irritated by the proposition that he's not good enough; but as he grows tense and eager to attack again, Llewllyn mentions a different strategy.

Revui huffs, puffs, prowls, and then launches himself at the pale wolf. He's snapping his teeth a little too early but besides that, his steps are aligning better and he's trying to use his weight to bowl over his heavier opponent—doing as he's told more or less, but he's put himself too close and is at odds with his momentum, unable to channel all of it in to his attack.

Good, good. The boy is doing better. He dodges the snapping of teeth adroitly, but Revui is getting closer. Llewellyn will not be able to avoid his onslaught, albeit a clumsy one, for long. He continues to dance on his toes, not making any offensive moves, waiting for the young mand to strike.

"Knock me over," he says imperiously, head thrust up, his stare down to the boy gimlet. "You can do it. Come on." He is tiring of the spar himself, though in a different way. His muscles feel bunched and sore from misuse. Like holding one's breath underwater. He has been holding himself back for several long minutes now, and it is exhausting.

Who knew holding back could be so exhausting?