Horizon Ridge of winter and the bleak cold breath

Echelon had caught the loner off-guard, but it was a fleeting moment. In a flash she felt hot teeth rake across her muzzle, steering her away from grabbing for his throat. It was a foolish move on her part to try and overpower him instantly and earn herself recognition for nothing at all. She recoiled bitterly, hissing a plume of breath into the cool air. It smarted and bled and only served to be more fuel to her growing fire.

But before she could collect herself to launch an assault again, the sandy-pelted vagrant was already executing the second half of his one-two punch. His larger frame pressed into hers with great force, knocking her off balance and sending her scrambling for purchase along the loose gravel of the ridge. Echelon didn't go falling down the slope like he would have probably wanted, but the incline and her grip allowed her to slide poorly along its steep grade.

She snarled, arrogantly and viciously with slick backed ears and a mouthful of pearly whites — all for naught. She knew she couldn't climb back up the slope without him being there to stop her. To continue down the slope was the same to admitting defeat — she'd never catch back up with him.