Nova Peak hangfire

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one moment he is all teeth and bravado, all wind-in-his-ears and unstoppable speed — and the next miska is simply gone from his line of attack!

nowkē’s paws hit the ground where the older wolf should have been, momentum slamming him forward in an ugly skid that eats up his footing.

he barely has time to blink before teeth are on him. his mind swirls. what?!

miska’s strike lands clean; axe grinding, a sharp, humiliating grip catching at the ruff of his cheek and sweeping down toward his neck. the boy grunts as his legs tangle, his shoulder hitting the earth first, then his ribs, then the rest of him in a tumble of dust and adolescent indignation.

the bearskin flies off his back entirely, flopping somewhere behind him with all the grace of a dead fish.

ah, you get lucky! the boy bellows. he rolls with the momentum of his fall, twisting sharply beneath the force of miska’s grip. then the boy snaps his jaws in the same breath, aiming for miska’s leg.

low, fast, and spiteful, just to get any purchase.