Dragoncrest Cliffs around here, it's just another saturday night.

As much as Artaax loved his siblings, he had been thoroughly rankled when Blixen had beaten him to achieving her mercenary skill before he had managed his. He might already have earned his hunter title, but that didn't mean he didn't have it in his head that he needed to be the first to all of his chosen trades. The boy was a fairly even-tempered, easy-going creature in many aspects, but not when it came to the massively high standards he held himself to. Blixen beating him was unacceptable. He was not about to let it happen again.

And so, the afternoon found the boy creeping along the Southern border of Drageda's claim. He'd been at it for a few hours now and was feeling a bit weary and a bit more hungry. Plus there was the strange itching across his back and up near his ears that was causing him to drop to his haunches every few minutes and scratch like crazy. After a while, it had become an almost scheduled event. The boy paused, sat to scratch himself and nibble at his flank furiously, then squatted to let a trickle of urine dowse the borders.

Standing from his latest stop, he shook his coat and took in a sigh. Hunger groaned loudly in his belly and his back leg ached from the walking and the scratching, but still he continued on his way. He'd show Blixen who was the better mercenary - discomfort be damned.

Desperation had driven Atshen to a new level of stupidity; the former Dark Master marched boldly towards the well-tended boarders of Drageda with only one thing in mind: food. It had been long since Atshen had had a proper meal. Weeks prior, he had been a healthy and supple wolf; a wolf that could rise to any challenge that crossed his path. But now? Atshen was fatigued continuously, his ribs jutted unattractive from his side, and his pelt had dulled considerably. Despite the fact that he looked like the walking dead, there was still some will in him, and that will drove him to the nearest cache. 

Had Atshen been paying any mind to his surroundings, he would have caught the scent of the nearby Hompleia.

Artaax was busily fighting the urge to drop to his haunches right then for another round of scratching when something happened that put his physical discomfort to the far back of his mind. The boy froze upon the threshold of Drageda as he spotted something moving towards his home in the distance - something dark, and thin, and not pack. Every muscle in his body tensed as he watched the stranger creep towards the invisible line that marked his home. In spite of it being understood that by patrolling the borders, his purpose was to deter strangers from the borders, he was pinned in place by uncertainty in that very moment.

Fortunately, each step the stranger took served to melt away his paralyzing shock. Or maybe not so fortunately, for while an older, more experienced guardian might have recognized the desperation and emaciation that the stranger stank of meant he was a more dangerous creature than even a healthy mountain lion, Artaax recognized only a brazen lobo encroaching rudely upon his home. Shock transformed into incredulity, and Artaax's eyes narrowed as he puffed out his chest and barked sharply to halt the dark male before he came any closer.

Despite his weakened state, Atshen pressed on through the claim with determination in his stride; mustering the last of his strength to get to whatever morsel lingered at the end of the scent trail. Even though he worked with great intensity, it was evident that such effort was already taking a toll on him. His sides, hollow from the lack of food in his belly, heaved with every step he took. 

All too invested in his navigation, and not particularly caring to entertain the show of domination, Atshen ignored Artaax's attempt to deter him.

And the dark stranger just kept right on going.

Artaax blinked in surprise and confusion. He'd been so convinced that would work, but no. The stranger showed no hesitation as he continued prowling straight forward. The boy's mind raced as he tried to figure out what to do. Call for help? Confront him? Attack? He frowned nervously as his anxiety strengthened under the weight of his uncertainty.

The moment the black wolf stepped upon Drageda land, however, all other emotions fled leaving only anger behind. How dare he. Artaax bristled as his lips peeled back from his teeth. Without another moment of hesitation, he sprang forward and circled around to plant himself directly in front of the stranger, snapping his teeth and posturing dominantly in an attempt to force the male to back away and get out of his home.

The former Silencer's displeasure was evident the moment Artaax intercepted him. Once he had stopped, Atshen looked to the other ruefully and countered the other wolf's growl with a haggard attempt of his own. Atshen felt as though he could take on the wolf before him and it was this fantastical belief that drove his next motion. 

Without much consideration, as his confidence outshone any logical thoughts he might have had as he momentarily paused, Atshen lunged for the Artaax's throat with the intent to kill.

Artaax, in all of his posturing, had not expected to be attacked. He had thought that his dominant display would be enough to drive the male back and send him packing. It had been naive, but there was nothing for it now.

Not being mentally prepared, however, did not prevent him from reacting quickly. Eske's lessons were deeply ingrained into his mind, and so his movements were almost pure instinct. He tucked his muzzle down to protect his wolf as the dark wolf leaped, simultaneously twisting so that the snapping fangs would meet his shoulder instead of any more vulnerable part of him.

Artaax's movements guided Atshen's fangs, directing them to the more-tender flesh along his flank. Realizing that he had been bested, the male growled as he dug his fangs deeper into the other's shoulder. Though holding on would put Atshen at a disadvantage, he bypassed any logic and did just that. While fastened into position, in an attempt to bring more pain to the other, Atshen weakly jabbed a paw in the direction of the other's chest with every intention to knock the wind out of him. 

Unfortunately for Atshen, he lacked the power to do any major damage with his punch.

While Artaax had succeeded in protecting his throat, he had failed in avoiding taking any damage. His opponent seized the flesh of his shoulder and the boy felt teeth tearing into his skin like hot knives. The scent of his own blood flooded his nostrils as his snarl intensified. He twisted his head as a paw was lifted and jabbed at his chest in a move that hurt, but did little to incapacitate him. He shoved into the other male, trying to knock him off balance as his jaws parted and he reached towards the side of his attacker's neck.

Atshen easily crumpled under Artaax's weight. Realising his hold as he fell, Atshen's defeat was accompanied by the painful impact of the Hompleia's teeth tearing into the side of his neck. Despite his better judgment, as the smell of his own blood quickly overcame the scent of Artaax's, he trashed weakly in an attempt to free himself. 

Had he been healthy, this may have worked. After all, he had been successful on multiple occasions with this tatic. But, given his condition, his flailing only worsened the blow. Gritting his teeth, as he attempted to free himself, Atshen tried to work through the pain that he was inflicting on himself.

The stranger fell beneath him and began to thrash wildly. Artaax felt his sides and stomach pummeled by flailing limbs and scrabbling nails, but it did nothing to make him loosen his hold. He locked his jaws stubbornly onto the wolf's flesh, feeling hot blood pour across his tongue as his opponent's thrashing aided in deepening the wounds. His eyes blazed as a kick to his stomach pushed him slightly off balance, but just then he saw the opening out of the corner of his eye.

Reality seemed to shift for a flash of a second as his blazing eyes locked onto his target. In that moment, he didn't see the exposed throat of the angry, sickly wolf beneath him, but that of a tiny, red fox kit. Nomi's calm command seemed to resonate in his ears, and Artaax released his hold finally, only to then drive his teeth straight into the dark wolf's throat.