Lake Rodney i will not be commanded.

in war or in fights, there's seldom fairness. there is little honor in it, and so when one is staked to lose all, certain tactics are apt to come into play.

and play was simply another word for contest, contest for fight, and fight for war.

he winced as praimfaya's teeth left their parting mark. she began to pull away, and he let her, tracking her movement with his yellow eyes. when she swung back around he was ready -- ready to counter with a terrific heave of his shoulder

only, she feinted -- and he was left shoving nothing but air

and then the collision came which knocked him sideways.

he laughed, for she had utterly played him the fool, as he recollected himself into the snow. he shook powder from his muzzle and looked upon her doggedly -- and then surged.

if trickery was what they would play, he would do oblige. his gaze was kept to her forepaws and chest as he drew close, yet in that last stride before collision he did an improbable flourish -- he slammed heavily on the brakes and spun in a pirouette, collecting momentum as he went -- and then lunged not for the front of praimfaya, but her flank.