Blackfeather Woods winter is coming

Instead, Winter had come. Gentle flakes weaved their way through the tangle of trees to dust the surface of the earth. It was all so alluring, and yet, Atshen was not so enchanted by it all. It was cold-- too cold for the child’s liking. Despite the thickening of his pelt, Atshen still found himself uncomfortable with the colder conditions.

Pulling himself from the warmth of Mephala’s Web, the child was greeted with the gentle falling of the snow. A frown quickly settled onto his dark features as he realized what was going on. Shaking himself to rid his coak of the already-settled flakes, Atshen then stalked off into the woods with no particular destination in mind.

Another one, He said, crunching the snow beneath his paws, walking to the boy who emerged with a scowl from the Web. He could not remember how many of Nemesis' children wandered through the woods, but he was certain that this was another. Potema's were not yet ready, and there were no others. What is your name? 

It was the rumble from the distance that shifted Atshen’s attention from the path before him and towards the approaching stranger. In the other’s approach, Atshen’s molten eyes glowed in the dim light and any expression that was once upon his features had subsided. “Whose asking?” Came the child’s reply, his tail lashing once as he looked up to the much older wolf.

The boy responds harshly, matching his molten, burning eyes. He smirked at his insolence. Miraak is asking, What was it with the young boys of this realm and their insolence? Everytime he spoke to them, with courtesy and respect...and then anger or snark. He shook his head, Now, what is your name?

Miraak. His eyes narrowed at this and he committed this name to memory, knowing that it would probably do him some good to remember this. With his curiosity satisfied, the Spiderling replied. “Atshen.” He fell silent once more, looking up to the elder wolf questioningly.

Atshen, He repeated, doing the same as the small boy. He saw the tiny dark body shiver, to which Miraak chuffed. First winters are always the coldest, He half remembered his first, though it was a foggy memory. You like to spar? We can spar if you'd like, He rarely sparred with children, but the furiousity on his face, so similar to his mother's, told the elder that it would be an interesting match.

He ignored the older wolf’s first phrase, as he was not all that keen on smalltalk, with a glance back to the entryway of the tunnel. He wondered if there was a way for him to get back and away from the Reaper, but, alas, there seemed to be no alibi. Just as he was about to utter a heavy sigh, the other seemed to bring his attention back quickly with a single word: spar.

Turning back quickly, Atshen’s eyes brightened at the word as if to say: yes, that will do. Without any further warning, Atshen quickly gathered himself to a crouch before springing forward with his arms held out wide towards the Reaper, aiming for the girth of the other’s chest.

He had the boy's attention then. Without a pause, the boy sprung towards him. Brash, impulsive, without strategy, just like his mother. He would have to rectify this as soon as possible, starting now.

He leapt out of the way, leaving the boy to pounce into snow. His paw raised, ready to slam down on the boy's back, pushing him down if he was given the chance.

The older wolf had found himself easily dodging Atshen’s and in turn, the raven-haired child found himself crashing into the snow instead of the stranger. Anger swelled in his belly at this, as the chill of the snow clinged to his underside, and as quickly as he had landed, the child thrashed out of the hold that the snow mound so that he could whip himself forward to face the darker wolf. His stare had melted into a molten mess-- the embers being fueled from his enmity for this stranger.

With the motivation, he sprung once more, aiming for the paw that had been poised to crash upon his back.

That such recklessness was allowed to flourish in an assassins' guild disgusted him. It was true that he was merely a boy, but shouldn't he be taught patience above all else? He blamed it on his mother, reminding himself that Potema's litter would not be coddled for so long. They would learn how to fight properly as soon as possible, and they would learn to do it cooly, without emotion, cold like the winter they would be born into.

He watched as the boy disappeared under a snow drift, waiting for his head to burst out. His molten gaze did little to frighten him, only annoy him further. Think before you act, He admonished, watching as the boy leapt forward towards his paw. Miraak's paw hit the ground instead, removing the boy's target, and he moved to the side, furthering himself from the torrent of rage. Think of what will effectively destroy my ability to fight back rather than hitting everything. The shade lunged, hoping to catch the boy by the scruff this time. He left himself open on many sides, giving the child ample opportunity to strike back; if only he looked for them.

Miraak’s foreboding lesson did not resonate with Athsen and instead, he shook it off as he had with the snow. As his target was removed, Atshen skidded to a halt and looked to the other angrily, his tail lashing and his eyes blazing. But, before the shadow lunged, he offered something that caused Atshen to pause. He took the words into consideration as the other sprung.

Feeling as though there was no time to really digest the information, Atshen lunged forward with the goal of latching onto the right side of the other’s flank.

It seemed that now the boy was listening; at least a bit. He paused for a brief moment, then changed his tactics, aiming for the older man's flank. Miraak chuffed with approval before falling on his right side, hoping to briefly smother the firey-eyed boy, if he didn't get out of the way first.

Miraak's chuff ignited a spark within Atshen's belly, and he found himself all the more motivated by the praise. He found himself watching the other more carefully. Acting suddenly as the older wolf attempted to fall onto his side, Atshen leaped, hoping that he would get out of the way before it was too late.

Miraak collapsed, tossing snow into the air like some kind of meteorite. He knows upon impact that he just narrowly missed the boy. He spends little time lying in the snow, rollin got his feet as quickly as he could. He lunged at Atshen's body, trying to grab hold of a part of him and pull him down into the snow.

Atshen's efforts were admirable in his dodging. Slipping past Mirrak quickly, the young Spiderling found himself just barely out of the older wolf's reach. Turning his molten eyes, perhaps a little too slowly, Atshen was soon met with the other's rebound. He stiffened at this, his eyes widening as Mirrak's teeth closed in on him. Unsure what to do, Atshen failed helplessly as his mind went blank on what exactly he should be doing.

He knows the battle came to an end when Atshen froze, dumbstruck. Miraak snarled, taking the opportunity to gently grasp the boy's neck in his jaws, biting lightly. You're dead, Was all he said before standing upright, shaking the snow from his pelt. Think upon this battle and why you lost. That was the style of his birth pack: little holding back, fighting to the "death", giving the student the second chances they would never have had this been real. He turned and walked away, waiting to see if Atshen would accept his defeat or turn on him.

With the proclamation of death ringing in Atshen's ears, the raven-pelted child looked to the older man with burning eyes. He did not think, nor did he act immediately. Instead, he felt. Anger quickly flared in his stomach at the thought defeat, and soon enough, this passion brought him to his paws. Red suddenly clouded his vision, and without another thought, he charged towards Miraak. 

Leaping towards the other, Atshen released a fierce snarl as he forced himself towards Miraak. His teeth slid out from underneath his lips, and he revealed his fangs-- such fangs that longer to rip into the Reaper's pelt.

He felt, then heard Atshen's rage, the snarl echoing in the empty forest. He stopped in his tracks, ears tilted back to hear the crunching snow beneath the boy's paws. He sighed; he was disappointed by him. He had half expected Atshen to learn from the battle. But it seemed that for this son of Nemesis, learning would take a while.

His hind leg raised and shot back, hoping to hit Atshen squarely in the face, or neck, or chest — wherever. He was no longer interested in humoring the molten-eyed boy.

Atshen was blinded by his fury, so much so that he did take the time to assess his opponent. Instead, he plummeted in head first without thinking of any consequences that might follow such actions. This was usually how Atshen made any decision and thus far, he could not find a reason to not act in such a manner. Sure, he got scuffed up here and there, but the raven-haired child had not suffered any life-threatening damages. 

He had felt the impact of Miraak's hind paw before he realized what had happened. Blinking rapidly as the foot hit him squarely in the chest. The impact caused him to slam on his brakes, and his paws skidded to a halt as this happened. Looking up from his chest to the other wolf, Atshen sneered as he shifted his gaze. Unsure of just how to communicate his displeasure, as he was not usually one to take a break and talk about such matters, the child did what he knew best: fight back. 

The fur along his nape spiked as his actions were driven once more. He did not take much time from his anger to sneer, perhaps a heartbeat or two, and instead he continued in his rage. Launching his fangs forward, Atshen attempted to latch onto Miraak's leg in reaction to how he had just been treated.

The moment Miraak felt his foot connect with Atshen's chest, the shade whirled around, his eyes dark and full of malice. The molten-eyed boy lunged for Miraak's foot just as the shade's mouth opened to grab Atshen by the flank, hoping to grasp the boy's side and bruise some ribs. He was no longer interested in simple sparring.

A pain rippled along Atshen's flank as the child made contact with the Reaper's foot. Unable to help himself, as the pain was intolerable, Atshen roared and recoiled. Soon after his attempt to get away, Atshen lunged towards the adult's muzzle in anger, hoping to land a blow and detach the other, all while trying to withstand the pain that came from the shock.

With what leverage he has, Miraak attempts to lift the boy in the air. The children were growing and growing strong; he isn't sure for how long or high he can do this, if he can even get Atshen off the ground. But so long as Atshen's feet are in the air, Miraak considers the move a success, then moving to pin the boy down in the snow.

From Miraak's motion, Atshen's front paws were lifted from the ground. Sensing that this would put him at a disadvantage, he attempted to lurch forward to bring his paws to the ground. This motion only helped drive Atshen to the floor, and soon enough he was under Miraak. Irritated as ever, the boy thrashed all while ignoring the pain that came from the Tyro's hold on him.

He is barely able to lift Atshen's body off the ground, only succeeding in removing the boy's front legs from the snow below them. He snarls, feeling the boy's body lurch forward just as Miraak begins to push him to the ground, pressing him firmly into the snow below, quick to smother Atshen with his larger body. Submit, Miraak snarls, leaning his weight against him.

Atshen was becoming increasingly aware that Miraak's strength outweighed his own. This realization became all the more apparent as the Tyro pressed down. Even with his limited capacity in the brain department, he knew that he would out strengthed by the violet-eyed man. 

Though he was tempted to oblige Miraak's command, he did just the opposite. Feeling the increased pressure, Atshen continued to writhe underneath the man, growling as he attempted to free himself.