Duskfire Glacier blood of my blood

@Blackfell

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the snow crunched under jora’s paws as she circled, muscles coiled. from one spar to the next—from faust to blackfell. across from her, her twin brother stood just as poised, just as unrelenting.

they had fought before—countless times, in training and in earnest—but no matter how many battles they waged, she never took him lightly. 

a slow exhale curled in the air between them. then, without warning, she lunged, swift as a loosed arrow, aiming low to unbalance him. no words, no hesitation. he would know what this was.

blackfell does not falter. he never does.
jora moves fast, the way she always has—like shadow, like wind through the crags—but he is ready.
when she lunges low, he meets her. not by evading, not by yielding, but by bracing.
his stance locks, muscles tensing, and when she crashes into him, he gives—just enough, just barely—before twisting sharply, aiming to hook his foreleg around her shoulder, to drag her with him in a brutal, unrelenting counter.
pushing the brunt of his weight upon her.