the hills have eyes.

. . .


It took time -at one point they were a struggling, snarling form, dancing about on twin pairs of hind legs- but Cross succeeded into taking the violet brute down. Not straight down as he'd originally planned- but back and to the right. He'd even snagged in his bite to the chest - a hit so vital and distracting that the purple opponent had released the stinging clamp on Cross's neck in order to tuck chin and protect his own. With Cross's forelegs in a clawing bearhug, the two boys went down. But there was no real counter attack from the other brute. Cross could sense the waves of aggression rolling off him - more than any youth should have to feel, but it was clear that Cross had met someone who was no greater a fighter than he. They were both still learning. In an adult's fight, the violet boy would've been considered as making a terrible and possibly deadly mistake, but this was training for both of them - no matter how broodish and angry at the world they might be.

So Cross let go.

He released the slight hold he'd taken on the other's chest and leapt a few back-pedaled strides to the outer ring of the imaginary circle they'd clashed in. It wasn't meant as any sort of sign of shame or gentlemanly pity or anything silly like that. This was how Cross had been trained. When fighting his siblings or cousins they fought until someone was down. There was no point in beating a dead horse and there was no point in tearing at a downed opponent. Not in practice rounds anyway. Maybe Cross was also doing something that adults would call a mistake, but it made sense to him.

He hung just out of pouncing range, legs still splayed and head still hung low. Though the bridge of his nose was still slightly wrinkled, most of the snarl had left his face. All at once it had changed back to being wary, but stoic. His tongue hang out loose and long as he panted ever so slightly. "That the best you got?" The bland, 'cocky' words were meant to be ironic. He grimaced slightly as he rolled his shoulders and shook out his neck. -Dang that had smarted. He didn't have any embarrassing reflex tears did he?- Now that he'd shaken out of his shoulders, he lightened his feet, adjusting and readjusting their weight, mentally working to get them smooth and springy as viper's coils. The first round had gone to him, but he knew they were both only warming up. "Wolf who trained me said to not just think about what hold you want, think about what hold you'll have more control in." Bit of free advice. It wasn't delivered in any sort of pompous way; just two students sharing notes. Well it was Cross's turn to attack now - or so it seemed. He'd given the other male more than enough time to rise and get a stance. Perhaps he was even preparing an attack of his own. But now Cross darted forth, quick as the lightning which colored his pelt (or trying to be anyway).

He came in frontwise at full speed, his snarl reappearing while his neck bunched to protect his spine and ears tucked to protect his sense of hearing. His eyes had zeroed in on Basilisk's throat and just lower where the jugular lay. There was just enough distance to give the purple male time to really brace and tense, but Cross didn't seem to care. Hunger flared for a brief moment in those venom colored eyes. - But it was all a trick! A fient! At the last heartbeat he whipped sideways - bringing now his muzzle to try to snag a harsh bite to the top of the purple male's left fore right where it reached the belly. It wasn't a hold he wanted though - just a snap - what would've translated to a tearing and ripping of flesh had this been the real thing. Whether he got it or not, Cross would keep running past the male before he circled round, prepared to deal with the next attack and/or drink in his victory. It was part of what he'd been saying earlier. Of course all wolves wanted to go straight for the throat, but a paralyzing blow to a leg? Or a rip at an artery? That spelled defeat just as easily. A painful lesson Cross had learned from his Uncle's story. It was also why he'd been making extra sure of his light footing earlier. There were things going on that both the fighters could pick up on - to help them with the coming blows, but Cross was still getting used to the ways of this stranger and visa versa


. . .