I'm gonna marry her anyway

They wrestled in a tangle of limbs and tails and fur, loud and raucous as wolves most often were in their struggle to determine who was best. In the end, it was the tiny Fox who won, her teeth sinking tightly into the fur and skin of Jinx's nape. Cuffed like this, she knew she had lost; her legs faltered and she snapped out a harsh, "peace!" as her ears went back to end the fighting. Although the only nobility Jinx possessed was that of a warrior—one who could admit when she was bested, although more often she would avoid being beaten by running—she blamed her loss not on the agouti wolf's prowess, but on her own aches and pains and weaknesses from fighting Peregrine mere weeks prior. Her pride would not permit her to call it fair combat, lest that pride be bruised by her recent bad luck.

"You fight well, little wolf," was all she allowed by way of acknowledgement. Her tongue swept over her lips, tasting the blood that trickled from the wound on her face; macabre, perhaps, but regular behaviour for a wolf. At least in one way or another Jinx acknowledged that Foxwas a wolf and not a coyote, which she had known even before goading her into fighting. It was confirmed: wolves always won, although if she thought of that for even a moment she would wonder why, if it were true, she had not won.

"Where did you train?" she would query if permitted to rise, upon which she would slink a few feet forward to re-establish distance between them.