Bearclaw Valley Clash of kings

d:4 ; a:3

Cole grunted as Tvar’s attack connected, the weight and force enough to send him stumbling to the side, his paws slipping awkwardly in the snow. The blow rattled through his frame, leaving his stance unsteady, and his mind clouded with frustration. A growl rumbled low in his throat as he recovered, the sting of Tvar’s strength igniting a stubborn fire within him.

Shaking his head to clear it, Cole attempted to retaliate, his movements less calculated this time, driven more by instinct than strategy. He lunged forward, aiming for Tvar’s shoulder, but the effort lacked the precision of his earlier attacks. His footing faltered slightly as he pushed off the uneven ground, and his trajectory veered off-center.

The attempt, though sloppy, carried enough force to make contact if it landed, though the execution left him open to a counter. His teeth snapped toward Tvar, his eyes blazing with determination despite the flaws in his form.