Bearclaw Valley Clash of kings

nat 1...

Tvar felt the sting of Cole’s retaliation almost before he saw it coming. Cole carried enough raw force to slam into Tvar’s shoulder, leaving him scrambling. The larger wolf grunted, his paws sliding in the snow as he struggled to regain footing. His muscles burned with the effort of holding himself upright, and his vision blurred slightly as the brightness of the snow reflected into his eyes, disorienting him.

He stumbled, his breaths coming in short, visible bursts against the cold air, and though he tried to recover, his body simply wouldn’t allow it. Exhaustion was taking its toll, the long spar sapping his stamina with every passing moment. Tvar growled low in frustration, his sharp blue eyes narrowing as he forced himself to rise again—but his movements lacked their usual precision.

His muscles refused to respond in time. The other wolf’s weight pressed into him and Tvar lacked the willpower to keep going. Life or death situation, it'd be a different story—but Tvar wanted nothing more than a meal and a fat nap now. His chest heaved as he stood still, then finally stepped back, lifting his head slightly in concession.

“That's enough for me,” he managed to laugh out. He shook the snow from his fur, taking a moment to steady his breath. “Good match, Cole.”