Grouse Thicket Schmoyoho, accent on the yo.

The two collided, and Kaertok felt her brace against him. Good. She wasn't a weakling, but that also didn't make her immediately worthy. Tartok blood was precious, or so his mother had taught him. It was customary to fight for the right to breed in his culture, and since there were no males immediately nearby, fighting her was the next-best thing. She dropped then, and Keartok pulled back, pausing just long enough that she managed to get a tuft of fur from his throat. This was a feisty one indeed.

If he had to wager, he'd say that he was only a bit heavier than her (maybe the same now that he'd been on his own the past month), but she certainly had a couple of inches on him height-wise. All-in-all, they were approximately equally matched. Kaertok's ears slicked back as he went in again, this time aiming his teeth at her shoulder. He didn't have any intention of breaking the skin, but he wouldn't hold back if that's what it took.