Iskandor’s lips curled ever more, the half-smile on his lips breaking into a full, wide grin as Xairo lunged. The blur of movement came with a force Iskandor barely had time to counter—barely. A jolt shot through him as the shoulder check connected, his claws digging down against the dirt. But he didn’t go down. He'd fought Cit like this before, how could he go down to another boy so much smaller than his behemoth of a brother?
He straightened almost immediately, pushing back with his own shoulder to reclaim the space, his eyes blazing like twin ice storms. Heart pounding, he held his ground, his muscles taut beneath his coat. The thrill of the fight just about made his blood sing, and pushed away any thought of retreat or de escalation. It was a fight between young brutes, sure—but more than that it was about his pride and proving he deserved to keep it. Iskandor whipped his skull back, aiming to headbutt Xairo right on the forehead while he braced for the impact with his rear legs.
