Bearclaw Valley A war in my name

looking to work on tvar's mercenary trade!

The morning was cold, the air sharp with the bite of winter. Tvar moved along the border, his steps steady as he followed the well-worn trails that marked the edge of the territory. The snow crunched softly beneath his paws, the sound swallowed by the vast silence of the forest around him.

The scent markers were faint but intact—no sign of recent disturbance, though that didn't keep Tvar's fur from sitting on edge. His breath rose in faint clouds as he paused near a tall pine, its branches weighed down with frost. A quick survey of the area revealed nothing out of place, but he lingered for a moment longer, his gaze sweeping over the horizon as though daring anything to emerge.

Each circuit of the border kept the Valley and those within it safe, its boundaries secured by those who called it home. Tvar appreciated the simplicity of it—no politics, just straightforward duty of protecting.

>:) then this'll suit us both- I'm working toward her warrior mastery!

Their newest initiate seemed capable enough of guarding the borders. Crouched, Ameline watched him, lifting her head so that only her brow might be visible should he look in her direction- though she ducked down when his gaze roved in her direction. She took her time, waiting for him to meander closer, gritting her teeth when the wind shifted and ruffled the fur along her back. She might have lost the element of surprise, but shock value might still play out in her favour. 

She bounded out from behind the patch of brambles and approached with her tail up, bushy, but swaying- the only indication that he would get that this was an exercise, and not an outright attack. She'd not exactly warned him to expect such a thing- but she felt that it was reasonable enough of her to test him. Guardians did not always get high warning that trouble was coming. 

She aimed to be a bludgeoning fist to a point below his shoulder. He was taller than Ameline by several inches- but hitting him shoulder-to-shoulder would have been a fool's choice anyway, given how solid he was. She aimed for a less sturdy part of the man, hoping to cause the leg to flex, and throw him off balance.

>:)

Tvar’s ears twitched at the sudden shift in the wind, carrying a familiar scent that set his muscles taut. Ameline.

His eyes swept the treeline, poking and prodding at the shadows between, but she was nowhere to be seen. The faintest narrowing of his gaze betrayed his suspicion, though he didn’t let it alter his steady pace along the border. Legs continued to churn, carrying him onwards, tail perked above his thick pelvis.

It was when he neared a patch of brambles that movement caught his eye—a blur of fur and motion. His body reacted instinctively, legs bracing and head lowering slightly as Ameline burst forth from her hiding place. The guarded man's mind immediately flew to sabotage, or something along the lines—but rational told him it was nothing more than a test.

Ameline had no reason to want him dead or gone. He didn't think...

She was fast. The strike came low, her aim precise and meant to test his footing. He pivoted sharply, his broad shoulders turning just enough to absorb the impact while his hind leg flexed to ground himself; but the sheer force of her momentum caught him off guard. His footing gave way, his world tilted as he hit the ground with a solid thud, snow scattering beneath him.

The impact stung his pride more than his body, but then adrenaline pushed him to react. With a sharp hiss, the brute twisted his frame, using the momentum of the fall to roll back onto his paws. His legs flexed as he pushed upright, shaking loose the frost that clung to his pelt as he straightened. The entire recovery took seconds, and he was back on his feet, whirling to face the Regina.

It wasn't over yet. Tvar wasn't going to take a beating lying down. He moved in a half-arc, and with a sharp burst of speed, he darted forward—not toward her flank, but her front. His head lowered as if he meant to barrel into her, but at the last moment, he veered slightly to the side. With his shoulder angled just enough, he aimed to unbalance her—drive her down into the snow like she did him, and maybe he'd be quick enough to trap her there.

Her shoulder smarted in the wake of the impact. Her teeth gritted together as she watched him tumble, but quickly find his footing. Had he been an intruder, she would have been upon him, biting for his underbelly, seeking to pin him down before he could rise. As it was, she wasn't given much of an opportunity anyway- the man was back on his feet, and lunged toward her with the speed of a viper. 

She struck out, expecting for him to clash against her chest, only to snap her teeth together and send a bolt of pain through her temple as she missed him completely. He drove his shoulder toward her, so the wolverine woman crouched instinctively, an action which might have saved her from suffering a similar fate. Her paws left streaks in the light snow underfoot as she was shoved backwards. 

She snapped her teeth together twice, close to where his elbow bent against his ribs. It was against her own policy to intentionally draw blood during a spar, if it was not between good friends. The two clacks were intended as a warning; if I could, I would. 

She was forced to draw back and yield her ground; he was much larger than she was, and allowing him to get this close could be dangerous for her. She circled swiftly, intending to make him pivot. A moment longer, and she dared for him to make another move with an inviting clack of her teeth.

Tvar shifted again, his sharp blue eyes locked onto Ameline as she circled him. This time, he chose not to mirror her movements but to cut her path short. He surged forward, his broad frame aimed low and steady, intending to barrel into her side and force her off her paws. His movements were controlled, his size and weight used to assert his advantage without reckless aggression.

As he closed the gap, his jaws snapped near the back of her neck—not to harm, but to make his intent unmistakable. The miss was deliberate, unwilling to bring actual harm. She was quick, sharper than most wolves he had faced; he was used to quarreling with other men of his size. The challenge of keeping up with her was welcome.

He didn’t wait for her to make the next move, instead taking advantage of the situation. Tvar shifted his weight and lunged after her, aiming to cut her off before she could complete her maneuver. His large frame carried a surprising amount of precision as he closed the gap.

This time, he didn’t strike directly. Instead, Tvar angled his shoulder low and pushed into her flank—not with his full strength, but enough to throw her off-balance. Simultaneously, his jaws snapped toward her front leg, to try and lock jaws around the foreleg and send her down into the ground.

She had to stifle a cackle so that she could concentrate fully on the match. If Tvar intended to prove that he was both quick on his weight and able to sling his weight around, he'd achieved it in only a few moves. If that was all that Ameline wanted to see, then she could have cut the spar short just then and spared them both the effort. She wanted to see more, though; she wanted to push him, assess him for any weaknesses both physical and temperamental. That, and sparring was enjoyable when she was challenged. 

He did not yield his placement, and stepped forward instead to cut into her turf, earning a faint, wry grin from the Regina. She caught sight of off-white teeth and ducked, feeling hot breath stir the golden fur at the back of her neck, flicking an ear to catch the snapping of teeth; a declaration of a move he might have made, had they not been pulling their punches. 

She began to ponder if she should throw caution to the wind and change the game- but she wasn't willing to take such a risk with a stranger. Not when there was still an air of mystery about his past. 

She had intended to lure him in one direction and then change leads, shifting her weight to the other side when he careened suddenly before her. Her maneuver might have put some space between them if she had followed through, but the surprise he gave her caught her attention, and she hesitated just a moment too long. In his firm grasp he caught her forelimb, which she then jerked toward her opened jaws as if reeling in a bait line. 

He could bluff all he wanted, with her leg in his mouth; she aimed for a potentially more costly grip at the base of his skull.

Tvar felt the resistance as her foreleg jerked against his grip, the sudden force surprising but not enough to loosen his hold entirely. He adjusted his stance, planting his paws firmly in the snow to brace against her counter. She wasn’t retreating—no, she was reeling herself closer, a bold move.

Her jaws snapped toward the base of his skull, a calculated strike that, if landed, could shift the entire spar in her favor. Tvar twisted sharply, releasing her leg in the same motion to avoid the worst of her aim. Her teeth grazed the thick fur near his nape, a near miss that sent a hot pulse of adrenaline through him. She was skilled, clever, and relentless. Tvar was eager to match her stride for stride.

Recovering quickly, Tvar pushed forward rather than retreating, using his momentum to press into her smaller frame. His shoulder angled toward her chest in an effort to force her back, with enough pressure to keep her from regaining control too easily. At the same time, his jaws darted downward toward her exposed flank, snapping with deliberate force but falling short again—nose just hardly grazing the fur there.

He backed off just enough to reset his footing, his breath misting in the cold air.

His stance shifted, muscles coiled as he prepared for her next move. The spar wasn’t over yet, and Tvar had no intention of making it easy for her—just as he knew she didn't him. If she wanted to test his limits, he would ensure she found hers as well.