It had been the humiliating loss at the raid that pushed the young Destruction child towards the blood stained fields that would forever stand as a symbol of those who fought to get what they wanted. He brought himself out there for something simple: a spar. If he could prove to himself that he could win against someone, maybe he wouldn’t feel as bad for the loss in an attempt to protect his homeland. He would take a deep breath, calming his mind as he waited out on the fields, looking intently for a challenger to face off against. He was thinking something simple, two rounds, no holding back.
It was dumb to think that his father and brothers and cousins held back from him during fight training when, in fact, they didn’t. He wouldn’t think something pretentious like that until he got a grasp for what those outside the pack fought like, hence him not seeking out Aslan or Félicien for a round or two of a tussle, but instead a complete stranger. He knew the risks of coming to the battlefield, but he was willing to take those risks.
He had some of his defenses preset as he looked around, his haunches and hackles raised, his head brought closer to his body though not all of his defenses were set. He would wait to set those for when he had an opponent to face off against.