Redsand Canyon now who to blame but i for tying these knots so well at my wrists

renard didn’t welcome being wrong. but it taught better than being right did. if donovan could turn it all around and the saints became more than a minor nuisance, they wouldn’t have a problem admitting he was correct.

of course, he wasn’t going to be correct.

his level of skill when it came to thinking instead of charging in headfirst expecting everything to lay itself out neatly in front of him, however, meant less when it came to a spar. he didn’t need speed when they were this close; he barreled into renard like a charging bear, teeth locked around their throat, and shook them side to side.

blood dripped over the scars. renard moved with him to keep their spine and skin intact, back and forth, and as soon as he’d stopped moving they twisted their head around, coming down on his muzzle and cheek to latch on in turn, with not nearly as much restraint as donovan had shown.

instinct said teeth should not have been that close to the vulnerable curve of their neck. but if a little blood was what it cost to get him to take this seriously, then they were more than willing to provide.