Fighting Chance

Mortis had heard from their father that Asla had decided to be a fighter. That made sense to him, his sister was small, but she had always been a scrapper at heart. He didn’t doubt she would be up to speed with the other fighters in no time. Surpassing them, even. She did like to be strong, their little Asla.

He smiled at the thought of her, she would always be cemented in his mind as the one who helped him out of his shell, when he didn’t know how to be. He still sought her out, hunted with her often, but they were real to have a real training fight. Since she hadn’t expressed an interest in fighting in the traditional sense, he hadn’t thought about it.

Raising his head to howl out her name, the young, winged boy, made his way down to the beach. His favourite spot to train, the hot sand beneath his paws had begun to feel familiar and right. He paced by the water, waiting for his sister.