Bearclaw Valley Clash of kings

a: 19

The impact rattled through Tvar’s body, and he staggered, his legs struggling to find purchase in the snow. Cole’s shoulder drove into Tvar’s side with a force that sent him skidding, the snow beneath his paws giving way, an icy gauntlet he could scarcely recover upon. The snap of Cole’s jaws at his scruff caught him briefly, the grip strong enough to send a ripple of frustration down Tvar’s spine.

Tvar grunted, his breaths coming quicker now, visible in the cold air as exhaustion began to creep into his limbs. His muscles burned, his frame heavier than it had been at the start of the spar. Yet the fire in his chest refused to let him back down, even as his body screamed for reprieve. With a guttural growl which resounded from the depths of his barrel chest, Tvar surged forward again, his larger frame twisting sharply to dislodge Cole’s grip. He used his remaining strength to lunge directly at the other wolf, aiming to throttle him down onto his back.

His paws hit the snow hard, kicking up frost as he drove his weight into the motion. If he could pin Cole beneath him, he might find a fleeting upper hand.

His jaws parted again, snapping near Cole’s face, ample distraction. Diversion.