Kintla Flatlands The Judge

The other wants it to. Aeronwyn can see it in the glimmer in her eyes, her step. She is not afraid, has not tried to speak. She falls into the rythms easily, and with confidence. But this is more then a simple spar, Aeronwyn believes. This is different, this is larger than that. The silence is good. No words to fling, no excuses, sounds, noises of little importance. Simply premieval instinct, language of silence. 

And then she springs.

A blur of dark, a spring. Her maw opens in a silent snarl and she too pushes of the ground, the meet tooth to tooth. Aeronwyn does not think just yet. This is a fight in which thinking is overrated, she simply attempt to lock muzzles, and use her teeth and claws to strike whatever flesh presents itself willingly to her maw. But now she goes for the face, teeth to teeth as the female initiated.
This would be fun.