Gilded Bay it's a battle cry, it's a symphony

looking for a sparring thread but i'll take anything else, too <3

Asherah had confused her. The encounter was fuzzy in Ragna's memories, flooded with the heady scent of her packmate's heat and the strangeness of it all. Reason had been swept away in favor of emotion and instinct. Even days later, Ragna felt out of equilibrium, a mood for which she had but one cure. She left the quiet of the copse and struck out for the shore.

Hours later found her with the sand beneath her paws and sea salt in her coat. Swimming in the ocean had cleansed much of her confusion and settled her frayed edges, but there was still an edge of frustration to her mood that could only be solved with physicality. So with her feet planted in the shifting sands of the shallows, Ragna tipped up her nose and called for a challenger, for any wolf who would spar with her.

Will I do? Do we do dice rolls, or… D: I am not smart, please send help.

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Ragna’s familiar voice drew Szymon’s attention wholly — and the fact that she was calling for a spar intrigued him. He did not fear that she would be swayed by affection for him and treat him kindly; if anything, he was assured that her closeness with him would cause her not to pull her punches. There was no reason that should have appealed to him, but Szymon found himself eager to earn some new battle scars. Too, he admitted, he was keen to see her again. Tipping back his head, he called bold acceptance to her challenge and skulked through underbrush and across familiar territory until he reached the bay just a few measures southwest of his home. Fighting on sand would be good for them both. He swam the short distance from bay to bay, emerging from the water with a mighty shake. “The sea wolf returns,” he greeted her, feeling the sand as it sank deliciously beneath his paws. “Let’s see what you can do, then.” He mirrored her own words back to her, eager to test her mettle.

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Though secretly she had hoped that he would hear her challenge and come to meet it, she had not expected Szymon to do so. He did not live so close to her chosen battle site. The sentinels and the plateau were between the bay and where she was. Still, she was pleased when he let up an answering call, and waited impatiently for his arrival.

He came from the water, which brought a fond smile to her face before it fell back into stony determination. Her respect for Szymon only doubled her desire to fight him, to compare his might against her own. Let's, she replied, and would wait no longer. She struck across the thin stretch of sand separating them, kicking earth up behind her until she reached him with a strike that was destined not to fall where she had aimed.

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Twisting sharply, Szymon avoided the strike of Ragna’s fangs — but only just. She was fast — damnably fast, he appraised with a wary glint of his golden eyes — and a tuft of his salt-crusted fur dappled her lips and fell to the earth between them like a white glove of challenge upon a castle bridge. The air whooshed from his lungs in a rush as he recovered from her strike. His hindquarters swiveled automatically and bunched beneath him; he moved low to the ground with his tattered ears pinned firmly to his skull and his tail held stiffly behind him as a balance as he whipped around with curling lips and gleaming fangs. At the last moment he remembered that they were only sparring and pulled his punch, a terrible, rumbling growl leaping rapaciously from his gaping jaws as he twisted his skull and mouthed at the nape of her neck — enough to bruise despite his efforts to be gentle, but the welts that he raised would fade before the morrow.

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For all of her effort, Ragna only got the teasing brush of fur against her teeth and tongue. Close but not enough. She grinned wildly, dancing away before he turned. Szymon crouched low, and Ragna dug her heels in, bracing herself for an impact. The impact never came, or at least not how she expected it. Szymon took a bruising grip on her scruff. The pain was like a spark, and she became aflame with the thrill of the fight. She moved quickly, not fighting against his grip but moving with it. She threw herself towards him, hoping to topple them both to the ground with her on top.

Sizzle is supposed to connect this round, but I didn’t want him to kick Ragna off in case you had plans for that position, so I left that vague. I went with some wrist or foreleg nomming instead.

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By throwing her weight into his lunge instead of against it, Ragna caused Szymon to be just off balance enough for her to successfully execute her offensive maneuver. He toppled to the ground with her slight weight atop him — a vulnerable position to be in, and one he strongly disliked. Powerful hindquarters bunched and kicked as he attempted to escape from beneath her, his fangs flashing anew as he pushed against her with his long forelegs and turned his head to the side to mouth at her foreleg. If she had been a true opponent, he would have attempted to snap the limb or throw her off of him, but for sparring purposes he merely scored it with a tattoo of his teeth and continued to try to wriggle free of her crafting pinning of him.

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it's cool! just go for it, i don't mind some pp if its u ;)

Down they went, collapsing into a pile of kicking legs and snarling mouths. She let out an unintended little [q]oof[/p] at the sudden, harsh kick against her stomach. It didn't hurt for more than a moment, and was more uncomfortable than anything, but instinct urged her to protect her underside. With the addition of his front legs flailing at her and his teeth on her leg, Ragna rolled off of him, springing up to prepare for whatever counterattack would come.

Sizzle misses this round!

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Szymon simply lunged toward the female, his jaws agape, aimed to strike at whatever part of her was presented to him. He was a fierce and aggressive warrior with a hefty helping of adaptability, especially when he could use sand and saltwater to his advantage, but he was not a studied strategist. His methods were strictly instinctual; he was not afraid to fight dirty if the need arose. In a spar like this, though, he had little incentive to resort to such nefarious tactics. His teeth snapped together on empty air — just as he’d thought, Ragna was ridiculously fast — and he was forced to spin to face her, his hindquarters moving in a swift arc as he recovered his balance.

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I'm on my phone so I can't look to see if she hits this round or not but I think she does??? idk lmao

His counter came, a well-telegraphed lunge that still might have caught her had she not been so quick. But quick she was, and she farted darted to the side, quick as a flash. And when she was clear of his strike, Ragna lunged for him, hoping to catch his scruff in a punishing (but not damaging) grip. And, if all went truly well, she pushed hard against the shifting sand, hoping to pin him again.

Rusty. Getting back in the swing of things! Posts may be clunky for awhile. ;-;
If I remember correctly, next round is the last round? Sizzle misses this turn.

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Ragna’s fangs connected with Szymon’s scruff, her superior speed making the maneuver seem effortless — but Szymon was no slouch. His tongue flickered briefly as he huffed a quick laugh; the pain he felt was minimal in the face of the exhilaration that swept like fire through his blood. He felt the push of the Shieldmaiden’s body against his own weight and used her forward momentum against her, dropping his shoulder to roll in an attempt to free himself from her hold. The black-banded seawolf was quick to regain his footing, lunging forward with a series of three swift snaps, each of which missed due to the girl’s incredible agility.

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Szymon was indeed clever, for when she pushed again he did not fight back. He dropped his shoulder, yet Ragna did not release him until it was too late. She stumbled and released him. She had not yet regained her balance when he snapped at her, a quick succession of bites that she dodged, but barely. And in the end she stumbled again, falling awkwardly to the sand with a soft oof. Once there she did not attempt to rise, merely flopped bonelessly on the sand, yielding the fight to Szymon. You are a fierce opponent, she said, smiling wryly. Yet still my paws were my own undoing.

Fade with your post? ♥

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Breathing rapidly, Szymon flopped down beside the Shieldmaiden with a pleasurable groan. His ginger-laced tail flipped as he turned his head to catch her wry smile, and he pressed daringly forward. If she allowed it, his tongue would swipe her salt-and-sand dappled cheek. Though not a typically affectionate wolf, Szymon had grown accustomed to giving and receiving touch — and he liked Ragna. He was too proud to beg her to come with him to the bay, and he respected her pride too much to ask her to serve Skellige, who had laid claim upon the land once reigned over by her father. Every time they met was a gift that he could not afford to waste. The responsibilities of their respective packs, the distance, the weather — all of them laid a threat upon their visits. “You too,” he said simply, mindful of the time he’d spent away from the Depths. “Winter comes,” he intoned, his golden eyes searching hers intently. “Is your home threatened by the snows?” It was his way of asking whether she would visit during the Long Cold.

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Her heart raced with the last of the adrenaline, endorphins high with the pleasurable post-fight soreness. She grinned and returned the affectionate touch, bumping her forehead into his shoulder. For a moment she mourned the time they would spend apart, but the moment passed and she began to focus on the present. She rolled onto her side, her spine against his ribs. We are strong, the winter will not break us, she said pensively. I will visit, but someday you must come to see my home. It was always her traveling to him, and though she understood that he might have a harder time traveling than she, Ragna still wanted him to see that which she was so proud of: the copse. Together they whiled away some time, but at last night drew near and they had to split, each towards their own home.