Two Rivers Isle spikeroog

@Troy

Snow clung to the ivory coat of the male. His lengthy limbs carried him through it without much effort, but the expression on his face painted the image of a vexed brute. Smokestep was growing impatient. He needed to find the waters that housed the black rock. He had spent enough time meandering the wilds with his sister. Though he was typically quite immovable in the face of her irritation, he was beginning to feel the ire that was flooding his body. He had bid Sandpiper a momentary farewell in search of prey, not caring whether or not she followed him. The pale brute had wandered through the thick wood and out into the open where he came upon open land and a small island that sat between two rivers.

The pirate sauntered down, mismatched eyes watching his surroundings with care. Birds flirted with him overhead, and the pallid Cairn flattened his ears to silence the majority of their senseless chirping. He longed for the water, and his internal compass was fixated on the rivers that ran on either side of the small islet. If he could bring fish back to Sandpiper, she would be sure to soften.

Massive paws forged the karhu's way through the blanket of snow that swathed the earth.  He loped with his chin tucked against his chest, eyes slit to protect himself from the biting wind that accosted him from every angle.

It was a cold winter, for sure.  For whatever reason, the further north he trekked prey seemed to become more abundant.  The first trail he'd followed ended in failure as he slid upon the frozen ground, yet the second was a resounding success.

He ripped flesh and sinew, quickly scarfing up the hare before tugging off a bone to carry with him — they were good to pass time.

Troy did not have to travel far before the scent of one, maybe two, came before him and just as with the girl from earlier he tracked them down out of curiosity.  He almost missed him — white wolf in white snow, but a flick of an ear gave him away and keeping a respectable distance, Troy stood (a brown-blonde blot against the pearlescent earth) and made himself known.

The Cairn boy thirsted for the sea. His spikey pale coat pricked at the scent of brine and saline. The rivers were likely to lead back to the coast. He should have turned back to inform Sandpiper of the discovery, but the flash of blonde caught his eye and the wild brute turned his crown to face the unfamiliar beast. Curling his lip back, Smokestep ran a salmon colored tongue along his muzzle and huffed deeply. This stranger seemed to want to watch. The pirate was not likely to attempt to hunt with the eyes of another on his back. Instead, he began to pick his way toward the other wolf. 

The ghost moved with his head low and his eyes trained on the beige predator. His shoulders swayed with each lengthy stride that he took and his mismatched gaze was trained dutifully on the other. Each step brought him closer to the unknown, but his confidence grew with each stretch of his limbs. 

The yearling makes his way towards Troy as if he has something to say about the brute's existence, inky black lips peeling back to reveal fangs.  Despite this show of arrogance, the karhu remained unperturbed.  

But the boy trucked on, closing the distance between them with confidence in his stride.  This was something that rendered Troy uncomfortable, and he steeled himself for defense or impact and if the spindly boy got too close he'd call, Mind your space, now.

The vagabond moved swiftly, covering ground faster than most would expect of a wolf of the water. His cocksure gait was sure to cause the beige brute to feel a twinge of discomfort, but Smokestep did not care. He was a thief and a pirate; the opinion of beasts on the land did not phase him or interest him, even in the slightest. This brute would be no different. The Cairn boy paced forward, not slowing in his steps. His approach was foolish, but Smokestep was as brash as they came.

It was not until the stranger hollered to the ghost to mind his space that the young Cairn found himself amused. Instead, his hocks bent and he picked up his speed, loping now through the blanket of snow. Great plumes rose from his mouth and into the air. “Mind your tongue, lad; or you'll be feeding the fish,” he barked in a guttural tone. The familiar curling smirk had not yet disappeared from his leathery lips.

The cocky yearling did not falter, and the lions lips curled into a snarl as the boy tried to toy with him.  Still, Troy stood his ground as the wiry boy bounded through the snow between them, covering the ground at an impressive rate.

You'd best watch who you threaten, boy he bellowed before releasing what he found to be an intimidating snarl, moving for the first time to finish off the space between them and issue a warning nip at the ivory yearling's shoulder.

The space between them shrunk and it was not long before Smokestep was close enough to feel the dragon breath of the beige wolf as he bellowed his warning to the young pirate. He chuckled softly and continued his pace until roughly three yards from colliding with the wolf. The Cairn did not stop, but he decreased his speed enough that he would not send them both rolling through the snow. This may have been a tactical error, for as he felt himself within biting distance of the brute, he felt the twinge of pain across his shoulder where the other's fangs had connected with flesh.

As the brown wolf had swooped in for his warning bite, Smokestep craned his neck and parted his jaws, revealing yellowed fangs. He swooped his head toward the bridge of the other's muzzle in an attempt to latch his teeth there. A snort shot from his nose in the process, spattering snot.

It was not uncommon for another wolf to catch sight of Troy and step up to the plate with cocksure swagger — for glory, dominance, gloating rights.  After all, the man was massive and defeating him in battle was certainly something to brag about.  Yet something about this encounter was different; just existing had seemed to get the wiry yearling barreling towards him with insults in tow.  Later it would be unsettling; for now his focus was on the fight.

The karhu's wide-set jaws found purchase at the man's left shoulder, but were met with a flash of fangs as the stranger's teeth razed against his muzzle, raking down the scars that had been formed by previous opponents.

This wasn't his first rodeo, but he suspected the same of the boy.  While the bite was intended to be just that — a warning — the vagabond's actions required more.  Troy's grip slipped slightly as the seafarer turned to bite, but he had prepared himself for this.

He dug his paws deep into the ground in a steady stance, crushing the snow beneath them to maintain a firm grip before pushing all of his weight forward in an attempt to knock the stranger over and dislodge the ivory man from his face.  Spittle collected on his lashes as they both held fast, blood trickling down his muzzle.

Ah! The marauder raged with adrenaline as he felt his fangs collide with the flesh of the wolf's upper muzzle. His shoulder stung against the warning that had been issued, and while he worked to gnaw as much away as he could, the noisy stranger was keen on removing Smokestep from his face. This was a smart decision, as the young pirate was only eager to cause as much harm as was possible before he returned to the side of his sister and sought the sea.

With all of his force, the ghost's opponent asserted his body weight against the seafaring wolf and knocked him backwards. Smokestep tumbled from his stilts and snapped his canines maliciously at whatever they might grasp as he fell. He knocked snow into the air with little concern and released a bark of excitement that snapped in the air overhead.

He was proficient in the waters, but he always enjoyed the challenge of fighting on dry land.

The man's fangs worked their way through the flesh on Troy's muzzle, scraping across without rhyme or reason and soon enough they are gone as Troy pushes his opponent forward.

The ghost's jaws kept snapping as he moved forward, and as Troy attempted to pin him down, chin tucked tightly to his throat to protect the tender flesh, those yellowed fangs connected with the leg that had been aiming for his body.

The lion's lips raised in a snarl and the warm taste of blood gushed into his mouth as it pooled down from his muzzle.

Recalculating, he aimed straight at the muzzle of his opponent, to crush and damage and get him the hell off his leg.

As he tumbled, the stranger was on top of him as swiftly as he could be. Smokestep could feel his limbs reaching out and scratching against the body that was attempting to be forced on top of him. The other male had tried to get a hold of the pirate's muzzle. He was successful on one of his snaps, latching to the top of the ghost's mouth. Snarling, the seafarer threw his head back and ripped the flesh along the bridge of his muzzle. Blood beaded there and began to trickle down through his dark whiskers. He rolled once more and found ground beneath his feet, staggering to a standing position. Both eyes were locked tight on his opponent.

Smokestep had managed to latch his teeth to the other male's leg as he had been knocked prone. Once Troy had put teeth on the pale wolf's muzzle, he had released his hold on the limb. Now he faced the other wolf with wild quill-like hairs that stood along his neck and shoulders. Yellowed fangs were glinting against the sun. His lip remained curled to reveal that he was not going to let this brute in on another attack. His long legs held him steady against the ground. He could taste the metallic tinge in his own blood as he drew his tongue across his lips.

Detached from each other, the blonde stood defensively with his legs firmly rooted to the ground, his own muzzle twisted into a bloody snarl.  The winter air was prying into his wounds with cold and hurtful fingers as blood pooled between his whiskers.

He remained steadfast, letting out another mighty bellow.  You done yet?  Had enough?  His short tail whipped madly, hackles raised as he shook out his "mane".

The two brutes had broken their grasps on each other and stood – stiff legged – eyes boring into the other. Smokestep could not help but to allow his leathery lips to curl upward into a brassy smirk. His eyes twinkled with mischief at the other's rage-fueled reactions. He eyed the flippant lashing of the stranger's tail and once the other male had spoken in an outcry of questions, the pirate canted his head to the right and drew his lengthy ears forward atop his crown. It was a peculiar inquiry and one that seemed to have an unlimited number of answers that could be afforded.

Smokestep chuckled deeply; his lungs were working to bring air into his body and as his mouth opened, his tongue lolled out to drizzle drool on the ground. Blood still wove through his short muzzle hairs and into his mouth. The taste was not foreign to the seafaring scoundrel. “Ahh... ye giving up already, lad?” he drawled with another crooked grin that crinkled his muzzle.