Wapun Meadow we keep switched on, all through the night while we sleep

He feels blood in his fur, a faint trickle from the scrape of teeth against skin — the tiniest distraction in a moment where every ounce of focus matters. Unfortunate, as this is about when he realizes his opponent is as quick as he is himself. Two kindred spirits, pitted against one another in Murder Tango a deadly dance. He mirrors her circling without pause, watching the movement of her limbs carefully. This time, he is the first to lunge; the movement sends air fluttering through his fur, another sharp sting like a papercut that somehow nags more fiercely than a broken bone, softening the strength behind the bite. Even if he makes contact, his grasp will be loose and easily shaken; a dud as far as attacks go.