Wolf RPG

She had told Ivitaruk what she had needed, and now, she would test him. Had his skills in his travel lessened? The woman doubted it. One groomed by and in Tartok did not become rusty. Fighting, protecting... it was their way in the world. It was embedded and ingrained and simply could not be forgotten.

Presently, the leader was attempting to sniff him out. The leader was hot on his trail, and would soon be near. The bear did nothing to hide her lumbering approach, her dark, almond-eyes searching for his warmly colored form. An ear flicked as she heard something nearby, but knew it was not him. It had been a small creature, no doubt, the quiet breaking of bramble too teeny a sound to be anything of her size or stature. And that was the sound she sought.

He had settled in to a rhythm easily once dismissed form Tonravik’s side. Rest was only gained a few hours after scouting out his new home, and come morning, the large beasts’ figure could be seen sweeping along the borders, taking only a few moments to mark specific things before continuing. It was quiet, which pleased the wolf, and as he lifted himself to his hind limbs and scraped his claws down a tree to intricately leave his mark, the swarthy form of Tonravik could be seen.

As she closed the distance between them, Ivitaruk pushed himself back to the ground once more, his tail dipping lower and his ears sliding back in submission to his Alpha. It was hard to miss his presence with his fiery pelt, and so he uttered a gentle growl to announce his presence – a croon, to entice her forward. His eyes slid over her quickly before landing at her paws – no doubt she would give him orders for the day’s start.

In the near-distance, she found him. As he dragged his claws against the bark, Tonravik drew closer and closer and by the time he noted her, she had almost closed the distance between them. She circled him loosely, tail rigid behind her and noting his submission. Appeased, she looked beyond him for a moment before ascertaining no one was near. He had been here a short time, but she knew the man before her would leave as much a mark on this place as he had that tree.

She had told him she required a warrior, and he had accepted. It meant that they would train, today. He had rested only a little, but she and him had both rested for less of a time in the war. Life, war, and battle gave no reprieve. And so the woman moved to nip his shoulder as she slid to his side before going in front of him, and squaring herself. Her intent was clear, and she steeled herself, preparing her own defenses and nodding to him: begin.

She had sought him out for one reason alone – one that became very clear as his shoulder remained on the receiving end of a sharp nip. Tonravik shifted away then, lowering herself as she prepared herself for a spar, and the male shifted down to a crouch he had been taught no later than a week upon Tartok lands as a pup.

His ears slid back in defense – she wished him to begin, and without hesitation (for no enemy would wait for their opponents true ready) the male struck forward. For a large beast, there were times it would slow him down.. but he could only hope to improve this. Striking forward to push his weight upon her, Ivitaruk aimed only to try to push her with his weight – testing the waters of his leader. It had been awhile since they had danced, and despite the fatigue that plagued him, he could feel renewed energy coursing his veins.

Tonravik watched as he surged forward. They were both of the same stature, and so they both had the same weakness. It was titan against titan, here; a true battle of Tartok against Tartok would be a bloody, gruesome thing. But that would not happen. Having utilized his own attack many times before, she watched as the distance between them closed... and she was swift in evading him. For despite her own stature, she at the least had time to see what was coming. Tonravik knew in the future, she might not be so lucky to see what was coming.

Sidestepping to the side he had not pushed his weight on, she simultaneously threw her weight in that direction to assist in his throwing of shoulders and cause him to stumble. Should she succeed, she would be swift in her next move, depending on his response, parallel to him but moving to turn at his rear to arrive at his other side, eyes narrowed and ears low...

As he braced himself, the she-wolf would slam in to him with a force that rocked him, and caused the male to stumble back. His opponent had a way of moving, and while he might not have fallen to the ground, her attack to him had certainly been more effective than his to her.

His paws readied and even as he was pushed back, the fiery male twisted his form, his teeth flashing as they made to nip at her shoulder —albeit gently. He was not seeking to draw blood, but the force of it would be enough to land a mark upon her.. as if to see if he could lay paw upon her, or if she would jump away all the more quickly. His defenses remained -- his ears remained back upon his skull, and his eyes riveted upon her. It would do no good to have his ass completely handed to him only a day after offering his services to her.

As he stumbled, she made no moves to further attack him as surely she would have were he an enemy. Instead she moves toward his side as she rounds him, keeping proximity close. But Ivitaruk was wise, lashing out quickly and taking advantage of the closeness they both needed. Her attempt to side-step was too slow, she was not always so quick with her hefty weight. His fangs combed through her fur, skirting skin gently. She knew his nip would not have drawn blood, but had she not have maneuvered slightly away, she would have fallen victim to an obnoxious, ego-bruising pinch.

She moved forward to press fangs into shoulder but quite literally caught air in her haste. She huffs, preparing her next assault.

His maneuver did not work – Tonravik coiled like a spring as he jerked forward toward her nape, and before he could change his course, she unleashed herself – clipping him heavily in the snout and jaw. It rattled his teeth, and a snarl erupted the male who pulled back a notch swiftly. He did not trail too far – and despite the gold stars that dazzled his vision now, the copper wolf rolled a shoulder forward, knowing her proximity to him, hoping to push her back from another attack until he could get his bearings straight.

He tasted blood now – having clipped a part of his tongue from the onset, and casting his cinnamon eyes upon the she-wolf before him, he withheld a smirk – minx.

Contact. Her shoulder would surely bruise itself from the move, but his withdrawal prevented any of her own skin from breaking when she felt mouth collide with the bony blade of her muscled shoulder. As soon as she hit, Tonravik was swift in driving her weight down and squaring herself, distributing the weight equally as she felt him push. His pressing against her did little to provoke the heavyset woman; they were two walls, quite difficult to move with no inertia due to her landing when she had. Had her weight still been upward, it would have been the right move. That wasn't to say the move hadn't hurt; surely a bruise would blossom where he hit, given his own strength.

Tonravik was quick to keep herself relatively low despite her height, not at all a squat woman herself, and moved to attempt to grab hold of his throat in the vulnerable area near the jawline while he was (hopefully) still dizzied by her last attack. All these things happened in a span of seconds, but his defense surely depended on her success. Tonravik had not meant to make him bleed, but smelled it in the air now. These things happened, but never was it the intent. Competitive drive made the duo work all the harder, to behave as though this were battle. To learn from mistakes.

A collision of muscle and perseverance – black fur melded with red, and reeling from the onslaught earlier, Ivitaruk felt his own grip of the fight succumbing far too fast for his pride to handle. His opponent made to lunge toward his face – and swiftly, the red tyrant maneuvered himself from this, twisting his large form to curl away from her and face her head on.

He did not pause with this – he could not bring the she-wolf down if their distance maintained itself. Ivitaruk closed it once more without hesitation, except forward to her, his jaws stole the chance to try to grasp her limb within his grip – not to maim, but only to pull forward and stumble her. Tonravik was fast and livid on her paws, and her teeth became closer and closer to their target with each tiring second, unless he could push her down.

They were quick, when compared to one another. Both were large, both had the same abilities on the field. Their speed was one and the same, neither truly out of practice. He peeled away from her and was able to orient the whole of his body forward, and again they were head on. He was quick to advance, and Tonravik watched him rise to go for her nape. She moved to skirt away, but certainly not before she felt him there... and she knew, were this a serious battle, he would have been given the opportunity to grab hold and push. She was swift to shift gears, keeping close.

Her left foreleg lashed out to attempt to wrap around a presently unlocked foreleg. Her other legs she rooted, and her jaw dipped easily over her throat. The attempt was quick, for if she succeeded, and even if she did not, she would ground that leg again. It was a truly bold move, but she kept her leg close to her body while also keeping close to him.

Tonravik was a creature he enjoyed sparring with -- unlike him, she held quite a few different moves that he found hard to determine beforehand.. something he should work toward mastering as well. Her own paw snaked forward to grasp him and pull his weight -- Ivitaruk released a low growl as instead he slid his paws further apart, causing his weight to distribute further so she could not knock him off his forepaws.

He swiftly swung then, attempting to barrel in to her, his side to her own with an intensive force -- it was unlikely to knock her from her own paws, but he hoped the sudden shift in their position would confuse her, if only briefly.

He had confused her, but she caught on (albeit slowly); she swung, back, knowing in her case the best defense was an offense. His bulk certainly caused her to shift, but she was close enough to do what she planned to do, next. Tonravik lifted her head, chin dipped to protect vulnerable throat, and kept her jaws near his nape to push downward with her weight, to get him to fall beneath that instead of stumbling. Tonravik's tail waved good-naturedly; he put up a good fight.

She observed him, though, wondering how he would respond--even as she reached forward to grab, she noted his body, its position, and weighed his potential retaliations.

She moved to slam him, her jaws gaping to grab somewhere at him – likely at his neck to end this fight. Swift paws danced away from the encounter, and in retaliation, he pushed his own weight to attempt to slam against her in turn, this time his jaws aiming for her shoulder, or wherever he might be able to grasp.

Fatigue was beginning to set in – it had been awhile since he had sparred, and he could feel the ache in his muscles already. Still, he would not give up so easily, even if the ending result was becoming more apparent. He would never earn Tonravik’s respect like that, and determination only fueled him to become fully Tartok.

Tonravik had fun, here, and although her endurance was surely more than his own for the moment only given he had been traveling so much, and likely was tired from that arduous journey, even she felt the familiar burn in her muscles that foretold of the fatigue to soon come to her. Her movements were slightly more sluggish, but she was able to at the least sidestep and miss his fangs, her jaws catching his own for a brief moment as antlers might catch an opponents antlers, and they spread wide, protecting the shoulder he had come near, and she sparred in moving to push toward his own shoulder.

It was a clear miss as her jaws clicked closed on open air, but she did not dart backward, knowing proximity would be her ally here as it was in all situations. Her body was always quicker than her mind as instinct told her the next behavior, but there was a delay as she breathed against him, watching with fangs bared. They were boxers resting against one another in a brief interlude of quiet peace, but the moment would end as quickly as it began when he made to move for her again.

They wore upon each other – his own attack fumbling, and chuffing out quietly, his cinnamon eyed danced with amusement as they drifted over her features very briefly. He could see she was wearing as well – but it was a game that would soon end. The crimson male snapped his jaws once more, albeit gently, this time, a clumsier attack to the side of her nape, seeking to tug on her fur, more than enfold skin.

He would hone his skills here – of that, he was certain, and Ivitaruk, for the first time in months, felt alive once more.

Her proximity earned him his hold, but it was loose, gentle. It mattered not. If he were an enemy, the next attack could be the blow to end things, and with her in this vulnerable reach it wasn't impossible to attempt the move, and so Tonravik wasted no time, and in succession with his movement she, too, moved; she attempted to shoulder her weight into him, seeking to hit her shoulder near his throat to cause his breathing to restrict enough to startle him into release, perhaps even fall backward. But there was little momentum to cause that.

Perhaps startling him might be enough.

Tonravik's plume waved and she rumbled excitedly, knowing things were near their end. It was a good spar, and she was reminded of his strength and his devotion to fighting until the last.

He saw her coming – a force to be reckoned with, and for a moment the fiery wolf was tired of trying to dance around her. His creamy paws shifted, moving his limbs farther apart as he made to brace himself for the blow, hoping his own solid frame was enough to keep her from completely bulldozing him.

It was not – Tonravik clipped him with a hefty thrust, and the loose ground beneath him would not keep him upright. Ivitaruk was down, his flame-kissed pelt twisting, though he landed with a heavy thud. He would not be back upon his paws in time of her strike, given their proximity, but had this been a true fight, it would grant him his death blow.

So he twisted, attempting to maneuver away from her jaws and gain his footing, his own jaws shifting to seek her forelimb and antagonize her.

While Tonravik was eager to spar, and knew well this was play between them and far from a true evaluation, when a wolf was one the ground, it was natural that she swing to his front and move to hold him there. She was large, but their proximity granted her the speed she otherwise would not have, and she held to him. But it was for a moment, and she was swift to release, her fangs instead moving to nibble at his muzzle as she gave him space. He moved near a foreleg, but her trust for him had no limit.

So as he antagonized, Tonravik went to grab at an ear. Unsure if she held it, she growled nonetheless, though the sound was not one of irritation, anger, or annoyance. Instead it was born of excitement. The leader was happy for him to be here.

Her teeth clung to his nape – insistent, dominant.. and yet gentle. She preened at his fur after pulling away, and like the torturing asshole he was, he chewed at her forelimb until she firmly restrained him, clipping him in the ear. He snorted with bemusement, his muzzle swinging to flatten upon the ground in recognition that she had won this spar, and in turn, allowed his tail to beat across the ground behind him in casual reverence.

“This I have missed,” he rumbled then, finally moving to push himself up. His eyes inspected her carefully, reassuring no harm had come to her, though he knew he had been as gentle to her ass he had been to him. He missed Tartok during his journey here – and now, with an old friend before him once more, he knew he would settle well at the Spine for as long as he was required.

The leader released when he stopped his antics, and she waved her tail victoriously, straddling him from above. But she stepped off, and he rose. His words earned a hum from her. Soon things would shift here so this way would be the way always; spars brought one closer, earned the wolves a certain dosage of deserved respect and camaraderie between each other.

She gestures to her shoulder, deciding she would stick with him this day. They had sparred, and now they would patrol; she intended to hear of his journey here.

At her lead, Ivitaruk would draw up to her side, His shoulder would brush against hers every so often – the proximity shared by true pack mates and comrades. He told her of his travels – of news from back home, and of his duty to her. He did not mention his desire to lead a branch of his own – this was something he would be given if deserved, and nothing he wanted to plant within the mind of his Alpha.

Silence would follow in full – but not in an awkward stretch. He familiarized himself with the borders even more thoroughly with her at his side, taking the time to stop and mark as they went. Ivitaruk, for now, was home.