the hills have eyes.

. . .


Cross managed to hold on for a surprising among of time. His balance was quite advanced for a yearling. But it was always just a matter of how long? and how bad the fall would be at the end. The violet youth twisted and writhed, bucking like a bronc beneath him. Cross, might?ve grabbed at the tempting scruff and worked at tackling the other boy down with him, but no, he was panting hard enough as it was. He let himself half fall half slide from his twisting perch. He rolled with the momentum to avoid any bruising ? it wasn?t that much of a fall really ? but he didn?t bother trying to scramble up quickly enough anyway. It had seemed to him like the other boy, though not having any lack of willpower and potential, wasn?t as fierce or aggressive an attacker as Cross had been expecting.

That was just fine though. Cross himself was a long way from the grand warrior he hoped to be, and they were both still just yearlings. The white male lay on his back ? cream colored underbelly rising and falling as he sucked in lungfulls of air. He had more or less won that round too, but again he didn't press his advantage, and he unconsciously trusted his oppoenant not to try to rip at him while he was down. Firey they both might be, they'd been civilized enough with their fighting - well - up until Cross decided to play king of the hill. His green eyes rolled back and he let out a chuckle -a real good chuckle- at the thought. This had been fun. He needed to catch his breath but he wouldn't mind trying again. Seemed like he could teach the purple eyed bruiser a couple tricks, and Cross himself could always use an exercise to help him work on his endurance. (He was yet to perfect it - as shown by his current spent state)

"I'm Cross, by the way-," he said, still upside down and panting, "-son of Cifer and Crusade; Old Glaciem warriors." The boy was proud of his hertiage, but his words weren't tipped in pride, they were simply a formality, one that the other youth had earned by now.



. . .