Reaper and his raven Moloch has entered the bone littered yard once more. Reaper was itching for another fight, he could feel himself getting stronger by the day. He knew his father would be proud of him with all that he's accomplished so far in his new life here. He still missed Seether and the rest of the Bloodjaw family dearly, but he had carved out a life for himself here. Back to fighting, he made sure he was in a decent clearing before letting loose a loud challenging howl. It was s a summon howl for a good old fashioned fight. He was eager to see who would show up. Moloch swooped down from the skies and perched on Reaper's shoulders, waiting with its beady gaze ever scanning the horizon.

His paws didn't itch for fighting. Eltrys trudged to the boneyard for a duty he disliked, as if his paws were weighted down with lead. But he had new things to learn, new moves to practice, new strengths to test. This place, among the bones of the fallen, was the best place to prove his worth at least to himself.

He perked his ears up to the call of a challenge. It was young, full of eagerness and a hunger for sparring. Eltrys nodded his head for Dagdrin, his Fossa to form up astride of him. He looked up to Feyr, the swallow-tailed hawk who gave a cry from the sky and swooped over Eltrys playfully.

The Guardian lifted his voice and responded to the call of the fighter in the boneyard. His voice was low and long and lonesome. He wasn't eager, but he was determined.

He found his opponent and lowered his head, his shield of antlers atop his crown. Feyr circled high above them and the brown shadowed Fossa crouched under Eltrys chest, ready to move with him.

"We will be your opponent!" He called over the dust and bones.