Moonspear I wear my long black dress, and a veil of disaster

Yeah, he said, berating himself for being so stupid as to use his words when only actions mattered. It didn't help. If anything, Arcturus took the opportunity to show him that words only left him open to attack. It wasn't something he would try again in the future, unless it was a true teaching spar, with opportunity to ask questions.

The best thing for Dragomir now would likely be to observe how two skilled wolves fought, perhaps with a narrator to explain when and why their moves were made. He was an analytical sort; breaking it down that way would be easier than having to try to figure it out in the thick of it, though he understood that was how real life worked.

Luckily, Hydra knew just the right words to say to stoke the fires of competition and determination that burned behind his sternum. Someday, no one would steal from him. Someday, no one would be able to push him off the mountain. No one would be able to hold him hostage in a cave. Someday, no one would dream of threatening him or his family. That was a goal to work toward.

Arcturus and Hydra had such different tactics. Arcturus believed that a strong defence could shut down any offence, while Hydra believed that harrying an opponent was the best way to keep oneself out of harm. Both had merits. Dragomir needed to learn where he best fit in... perhaps he would one day amalgamate the two, creating his own unique and fluid style. I'll do that next time, he promised, beaming when Hydra offered to practice it with him. Next time, Arcturus would find him a more capable opponent.

Bramblepoint awaited after that, and Dragomir departed with a good many things to look forward to.