Bearclaw Valley [SPAR] through this we go

d: 2, attack hits (since the same); attack: 17

Cole felt the impact like a boulder crashing into him, the force reverberating through his shoulder and rattling his core. He’d leaned into the strike rather than dodge, counting on the close proximity to turn the tables. The hit stung, a dull ache blooming in the muscle, but he didn’t give it a moment’s thought.

Improvisation, quick and dirty, was his game.

Ancelin’s precision struck clean, but Cole was already pivoting, teeth snapping toward the very shoulder that had collided with his own. A bruised muscle was a weaker muscle—if he could dig in, he might just steal back the upper hand.

Not bad, he grunted between clenched teeth, the hint of a grin pulling at his muzzle. There was no malice in his voice, only the thrill of the spar and the desire to match the prince strike for strike.