White River Canyon

A gleam sparked in Xairo's emerald eyes as he noted Abyss' determined stance, her growl reverberating through the air like a challenge echoing in the valley walls. There was nothing he desired more than to break through that facade of calm. With a sudden burst of energy, he feigned a bold strike straight at her, only to veer sharply to the left, seeking an opening. The rush of adrenaline coursed through his veins, amplifying every breath and heartbeat. He had to outsmart her; she was nothing if not unpredictable.

But as he charged, a flicker of uncertainty danced in the corners of his mind. Abyss stood poised, her senses reaching out like tendrils through the chaos surrounding them. He could almost feel her focus sharpening, honing in on him—a quiet storm ready to break. Xairo darted left, feeling the cool breeze against his fur, but he couldn't shake the nagging feeling that she had anticipated this move.

In that split second before impact, he committed fully, muscles coiling like tightly wound springs, then launching himself into a low roll to evade any counter from her side. The grass beneath him was soft yet unyielding, providing just enough cushion to absorb the shock of his landing. He sprang back onto his paws with agility, scanning Abyss with a newly cautious eye. He was vaguely aware of his father watching intently from a distance, the glowing orange of Aresenn's gaze piercing through the fray, assessing the unfolding drama. Their father's presence was both an anchor and a weight; Xairo hesitated for a fraction of a heartbeat before launching his next offensive—he could feel Aresenn's expectations almost a physical force in the air.

"Xairo Saxe"