Shake off the rust

Romulus was still very much on the mend after contracting the crystal plague, but his body had at least returned to normal, with all of the strange growths having receded or fallen off. Lillith had been overjoyed to have him back to health, but his close brush with death had made the Armada wolf realize just how little time he'd spent preparing his body for a fight—whether it was physically or medically. He renewed his determination to focus on his studies in fighting and healing so he could be better prepared and protect Lillith should the need ever arise again. Still, with the Long Night stretching on into eternity, time felt very much of the essence. Half of the Hallows was still sick, so it left little in the ways of options for lessons or spars.

The answer to his dilemma came in the form of Ulric's call out at the sparring grounds. Roman's head snapped up and ears perked. So the Adravendi patriarch wanted an opponent for a spar? That worked out perfectly for the young Armada. Heading out of the castle walls in the darkness of the eternal night, he approached the training rings, silver and slate fur much more noticeable in the moonlight than Ulric's earthy browns. "Looking for someone to tussle with, sir?" he asked, greeting Ulric with a roguish smirk and dip of his head. He shook his coat and stretched out his back and limbs, loosening up muscles that had been bedridden for far too long. "Is this a group session, or a one-on-one?"

"Romulus Armada"