Swiftcurrent Creek cowpoke

There was a hip cock, a stare down, and then an equally impressive and disgusting arc of saliva as it shot out of the man’s mouth in a casual spit. Now, where Akavir came from, spitting toward another was a sign of disrespect. Given the body language of the other man—it meant the exact same thing.

Arric took it in stride—smirk on his features and giving Akavir space to continue. A goading of sorts, almost, and he felt a certain eagerness at what was looking to be another fight.

Pretenses dropped. Why waste time?

“Careful,” he offered, a lazy grin spreading across his muzzle, revealing a flash of his canines. “Or I’ll make you lick that back up.”