Dragoncrest Cliffs We can weep and call it singing

Ephraim's temper was up, which was never a good thing. Most of the time he was a mild-mannered coywolf, equal parts fierce and flighty to complement his dual bloodlines, with a preference for talking things out like a civilized young man. He jived well with Drageda's culture because while they didn't take anyone's guff, they weren't mindlessly violent or primitive either. There was enough discussion and culture about them in spite of their feral protectiveness and strength that their way of life appealed to both sides of him. Usually, he was in balance enough that his temper had a long fuse.

The events of the past two days, however, had tipped the scales toward frustration, throwing Ephraim headlong into his fiercer self. He was unhappy to know that he and Tux had not secured the bay as he thought they would. It had been utterly foolish for him to think it was something they could do, but it didn't rankle any less that they had failed. Their captive calling out to her fellows on the ocean wind had put him in a foul way—Drageda was going to have to do something about that, lest they be caught off guard when the fellows who received that call came, as Ephraim was sure they would. It, along with the storm smashing the coastline, made him paranoid that war would come to them, and this time, he would have to face it straight on.

So he stalked through Drageda's forest near the lake, hackles up and seeking a way to burn out some of his irritation.

@Vercingetorix

It didn't take long for Verx to read Ephraim's mind, judging by his body language; the dark brute felt much the same, as of late. Still, he flashed the coywolf a smile, breaking into a trot to approach him but avoiding the customary nudge he would have given. Any touch could set either of them off like a firework.

Then again, perhaps that might be good. Better to go off now than to let it build up and then gallop to the sound on a suicide mission.

Hey, kick my ass, Vercingetorix suggested without preamble, before switching into Trigedasleng. Fight me. Draw some blood. It'll make you feel better. He knew there was the proverbial snowball's chance in hell that Ephraim could prevail in a fair fight, but he'd go a little easier on him. It was good practice for when he wanted to train younger kids--and he did certainly want to do that, eventually.

A suicide mission is likely exactly what Ephraim would have considered if Vercingetorix hadn't found him when he did. He knew full well he couldn't take on an entire pack of wolves by himself, even if they were a disorganized militia of complete strangers who couldn't hope to have the synergy of their larger neighbour. But he would go out in a blaze of glory then, fighting for Drageda... and in spite of his logic telling him no one would admire him for it, Ephraim liked to think his bravery would be envied.

But Verx stopped him with a smile and a demand. The little coywolf sized up the larger wolf and knew it was pretty well hopeless. He hadn't yet figured out a way to defeat a larger opponent when one swing of those huge jowls could make his knees buckle. He hypothesized that if he never got hit, then he would be able to whittle down his opponent with his weaker but faster hits, but it was completely unrealistic. He needed to formulate a better plan.

So just as Verx knew he was going to lose, Ephraim also knew, but at length he ground out a resigned, okay, and set his stance, splaying his legs to balance himself out and bouncing his weight over the balls of his feet. From this position he could dart either way without faltering much at all; changing direction was a breeze when prepared. Then he did the only thing he had actually learned could give him a slight advantage in a fight: he beckoned for Verx to take the first move, so he could watch the more experienced warrior more closely and react accordingly.

Oh, so he got to go first? Sweet, uh, okay. How not to kick this kid's ass right off the bat. Vercingetorix thought that perhaps his hesitation could be to Ephraim's advantage; by hemming and hawing trying to formulate a plan, the coywolf could seize upon his indecision and pounce. But he'd try not to be too obvious about it.

Well, maybe there was no way to be too obvious about it. Whatever. Verx launched himself toward Ephraim with little nuance, jaws aimed to gently take the young man's scruff in his teeth and pin him to the ground.

Even though he had the advantage of being able to watch what Vercingetorix was doing, Ephraim wasn't as prepared as he ought to have been for the man's charge. The warrior wasn't too secretive about where he was going, allowing Ephraim to duck out of the way just in time, but he wasn't as quick as he could have been. Verx's lowered teeth scraped across the flesh above his shoulders and his eyes teared up of their own accord when a hefty tuft of fur was yanked loose from his coat.

He reacted quickly, but without much thought. His first instinct was to turn his head and spin out of his crouch, snapping for the exposed shoulder nearest him, but his heart was hammering from how sudden Vercingetorix's attack seemed to him and his counter wound up clumsy. His aim was all too obvious and it would be easy for the stronger wolf to anticipate it and force him away before he managed to get any sort of grip. A smarter, more experienced warrior might have gone for Vercingetorix's hind leg instead, given the limited options his opponent would have then, but Ephraim was naught but a largely untried greenhorn who needed to learn the hard way what worked and what didn't.

He aimed for flesh and came away with a mouthful of fur, naturally. He spat it out with a pah and twisted to find the neck again, only for the coywolf to come at his shoulder, a small, persistent shape beneath him. A broad shoulder was hard to grasp, especially in the heat of battle. Ephraim's teeth scraped through the dark fur and across the flesh, leaving a superficial wound but not much more.

Leg, Verx panted. You gotta go for my legs, bro. Trip me up. Shoulder bites won't do shit, not with our size difference. He ducked down, suddenly, head lowered and coming at Ephraim's abdomen like a battering ram. At the last minute, he brought it under and then up, hoping to connect with the soft underbelly and send the boy flying.

He sprang away when Verx offered an opening, hoping to have done some damage, but realizing that all he'd achieved was a sore mouth from jarring it against the warrior's deltoid. Working his jaw to rid himself of the ache, he tried to take in what Vercingetorix was telling him—the legs were a better target, and that suddenly clicked because duh, his center of gravity was lower and he had an advantage there—but then his opponent was rushing forward and knocked him flat like a bull.

With a sharp intake of breath, Ephraim hit the dirt on his side and flinched instinctively, covering his belly with all four legs in fetal position. His narrow muzzle slung down across his throat and he glared up at Verx, indignant for how easily he'd been bested. It was tempting to give up and admit defeat; he was a sore loser at the best of times. But he found his feet again and readied himself once more, tail lashing. The spot where Vercingetorix had ripped out his hair smarted; it was likely the warrior had grabbed more than just hair after all. He forced himself to focus on something else.

His gaze darted between all of his opponent's feet, searching for the weakest one. There wasn't one. Frustration found a hold on him then and before he knew it he was leaping forward, aiming for the man's left leg with the intention to feint and hit the right one instead, although the signs of this were also obvious to an experienced eye.

The coywolf looked frustrated--why wouldn't he?--but at least it seemed that Ephraim took his advice to heart. Vercingetorix glanced down and saw a blur of tans come flying at his legs, moving left and then right, at the last moment. He connected, and perhaps a bigger wolf would have knocked the cheka down.

Still, he decided to give his friend at least a glimmer of hope, and threw his weight forward, but awkwardly, so that the blow made him wobble on his forelegs. Stopping short of tumbling down in a crashing heap, Verx went to his knees--okay, shit that hurt. Down to his knees in the dirt, his face caught between a grimace of pain and a delighted grin.

Yeah, good, good, he complimented Ephraim, beginning to try and scrabble backwards. Would the other take advantage of his sloppy recovery and bring him down for real?

There. Maybe it was fabricated or maybe it was real—he had no way of knowing for sure—but Verx faltered, and he drove forward to close the gap. He didn't really know what he was doing, though; he'd managed to create an opening by targeting the man's legs, but now that he had taken Vercingetorix to his knees, he didn't know how to finish the fight. A real fight ended when one wolf was on their back, or yielded to the victor, or was dead.

How did he bring Vercingetorix down from here?

He flung himself fruitlessly at his quarry's nape, hoping to hook his teeth in gently and drag the man down to his side with a yank now that he was unstable, but the size difference ensured that he likely wouldn't succeed. There had to be another way, but he just didn't know what it was.

Ephraim latched on before he was able to regain footing, and that was the final nail in his coffin. Like a mighty Jenga tower brought down by one misplaced block, Verx tumbled to the ground, barely missing squashing the coywolf in the process. Ice flung up around him as he hit the ground with a uughhhhfff, wind temporarily knocked out of his lungs.

Nice, bro, he wheezed. He would have given Ephraim a thumbs up if, well, you know. That's how you do it. Not to say that he hadn't helped the boy along tremendously. Perhaps, though, it had given him a little bit of a confidence boost, and gotten the fire out of both of their systems. . .for now.

He tried to get back up but struggled to get a good breath, and remained on the ground instead, eyes darting as he watched for Ephraim's next move.

Somehow he managed to topple Vercingetorix, but had to skitter back and out of the way to avoid being crushed by the larger wolf. He ran through the prior events quickly in his head, trying to determine if there had been a way to succeed that didn't involve throwing himself out of harm's way. He concluded that there wasn't... at least, there wasn't any way that he could think of. Surely more experienced wolves had better tactics. Ephraim was still very much a beginner when it came to strategy.

He positively beamed at Verx's praise, but as this was just a spar meant to blow off steam, he didn't ready himself for another go. He saw the opening presented by Vercingetorix being downed and knew that in a real fight, he would need to continue pressing his advantage. Right now, Ephraim was more interested in discussing other ways to deal with a hefty opponent. Besides, he was the kind of guy who thought it was a little arrogant to flaunt a victory by rubbing it in more. A win was a win even if it was only won by the leniency of his foe; no need to push his luck.

If I was you and you were me, he said, taking a moment to consider their chosen battlefield, what would you do next? And could I have avoided having to dodge away when you fell? These were all things that would come in handy later in life, for most wolves were larger than he. He would always be the underdog in that way, but that didn't mean he couldn't become skilled enough to take down even the largest wannabe in the world.

Verx couldn't resist a goofy smile at Ephraim's obvious pleasure, and began to rise as he regained his breath. He hummed softly, pondering the question, eyes half-shut as he replayed the scenario in his head. Get my belly, any way you can, he mused. Maybe, uh, keep ahold of my neck and twist so that you're battering my ribs with your hind legs. Take advantage of my weakness.

He shrugged at the second part of the question. Kind of? It would have been better to keep holding on while you got the fuck out of the way, but I understand. Big dude coming down on you--nightmare scenario. Nah bro, you did fine. Vercingetorix gave him a smile, still panting slightly. Feeling good? He knew he did.

All at once adrenaline seemed to catch up with him and he felt winded; he quietly sucked in breath while Vercingetorix broke down his questions and offered tips. These were all things he intended to practice and put to use in the future. He couldn't serve among the pack's elite warriors if he couldn't even take an opponent on his own. Size be damned. Sometimes the most effective fighters were the smallest and quickest rather than the strongest, and that was what he intended to be.

Hold on and go for the belly, gotcha, he repeated, letting his tongue loll into a pant. Yeah, I feel... better. Ephraim couldn't say he was a hundred percent, since he was still pissed off, but it wasn't consuming him the way it was before. Have you trained a lot of warriors before? You're really good at it. Not that Ephraim knew, but training with Verx was at least easier than training with the war wolves of Trigeda. Those guys were serious business... and they didn't pull their punches.

He beamed at the compliment. Thanks, man, he shot back, wagging his tail. I mean. . .kind of? It wasn't my job or anything, but yeah, I helped younger wolves learn how to fight. We all kinda chipped in in that regard. He shrugged, pleasantly surprised. It seemed that his skills were much in need here, after all.

He rose his brows in question, having finally regained most of his breath. Round 2 or nah? he asked. Up to you, bro.

fade this out?

Beaming, the young coywolf answered with a shrug and a short, naw. He was feeling a lot better now that they'd both blown off some steam, and he needed a little time to mull over his new strategy and decide if it could be improved even more before he was ready to take the Cheka on again. Thanks for the tips! he continued, think I'm gonna go try 'em out on Tux, he won't see me coming! And with that he took his leave, waving a genial farewell with his tail.