Duskfire Glacier limitations

faust did not relent.
@Jora had hit the ice, but she was not beaten. paws planted firm against his chest, she resisted, and he met her with equal force—unyielding, unwavering. a test of endurance, of raw power, of who would break first.
he bared his teeth, a grim smile curling at the edge of his lips. get up.
there was no mockery, no taunt. only the demand of a leader, of a warrior who expected more. he pressed against her hold, testing her strength, waiting for the moment she would strike back.

"then stop trying to put me down."

the words were barely free of her lips before she struck once more, driving forward with the full weight of her body. if he wanted a fight, she would give him one.

her muscles burned with the strain, but she did not waver. she met his force with her own, teeth bared, breath curling like smoke between them. she knew what this was—knew he was pushing, demanding, waiting to see if she would yield. 

crownores did not yield.

with a sharp exhale, she shifted. instead of resisting, she let his weight press forward just enough—then twisted, using the force against him. in a blink, she wrenched to the side, aiming to throw him off balance, to topple him beneath her. "you first," she growled.

faust felt the shift before he saw it. jora moved like a striking viper, using his own weight against him, and suddenly the ice beneath him was no longer steady.
his paws scraped for purchase as she twisted, driving him sideways. but he did not fall. instead, he braced, muscles coiling like a spring, and retaliated with brute force.
not today, he growled, his shoulder ramming into hers, fangs snapping close to her ear as he sought to regain control of the fight.

jora felt the impact like a crack of thunder, her shoulder jolting with the force of his retaliation. he did not fall—good. she would not have wanted him to.

as his teeth snapped near her ear, she turned into him, closing the distance, refusing to be driven back. loss of ground meant loss of advantage.

a breath, a heartbeat—then she surged low, twisting beneath his weight, jaws parting as she aimed for the thick ruff of his throat. not to wound, but to hold, to wrangle him back.

her breath ghosted against his fur as she spoke, low and steady. “we shall see,”

faust snarled, feeling the press of her body as she twisted beneath him, forcing his balance to shift. her teeth found his ruff, a firm hold but not a crushing one. he exhaled sharply, muscles burning with exertion.
he did not resist—no, he moved with it, dropping his weight suddenly to pull her down with him. his hind legs braced against the ice, and with a sharp jerk, he twisted, seeking to shake free from her hold and slam his shoulder into hers.
his breath came steady despite the effort, green eyes flashing with something sharp, something pleased. she did not yield. good.

jora barely had time to adjust before the weight of him crashed into her, a shock surging through her frame. she gritted her teeth, feeling the sting of ice scraping beneath her as she was wrenched sideways.

her grip loosened just enough to slip free, twisting with him rather than against, letting the momentum become her own. even as his shoulder slammed into her, she braced, rolling with the impact instead of resisting outright. her breath was ragged in her lungs, muscles burning.

faust feels her shift, the way she moves with the force instead of against it. smart. his muscles tense, bracing as she rolls, anticipating the counter.
she does not yield. good.
his breath is steady despite the burn in his limbs. his weight shifts, adjusting his footing on the slick ice. in a blink, he strikes again—fast, sharp, aiming to hook his foreleg behind hers and drive her down.

jora barely had a moment to adjust before the weight of him wrenched downward, dragging her with him. the ice was unforgiving beneath her paws, and his strength bore down like an avalanche—crushing, relentless.

even as he twisted free, even as his shoulder crashed into hers, she rolled with the force instead of fighting it, letting the momentum carry her until she could find her footing once more.

"you're strategy is good." she appraised, "look for weak spots. everyone has them." then, like the snap of a bowstring, she lunged again, giving him the chance to defend.

faust braces, meeting her lunge with a swift, steady pivot. her weight crashes into his side, but he digs his paws in, letting the ice work in his favor. he lets her push him just enough before shifting his balance, twisting away.
it’s good. she’s good.
his breath puffs in the cold air as he straightens, rolling a sore shoulder. then, with little ceremony, he spits onto the frozen ground between them, the taste of iron lingering.
good job, he rumbles, giving her a single nod of approval. not too much, not too little—just enough. then, without another word, he turns, shaking out his thick pelt before striding off.