Their freedom is relative.

Lefty knows this much. Still, she is in charge of much of herself. She is technically a slave to the Armada, but that doesn't change her purpose-- or rather, the truth of it.

The blue-toned wolf looks towards the sky. Lefty breathes in. On her left, March is sniffing dried blood. Above her, Storm-Eye swings in small circles, chattering and eager.

Lefty does not call out. Instead, they wait, settling back and observing. She knows that she will be seen. Sooner or later. That's what matters.

The winter wind ruffled Katja's fur, but the northern-breed wolf ignored it as she stepped back onto the battlefield once again. The iron claws of her gauntlets clicked on the occasional stone, the charms wrapped around her bracers rattling faintly with every step. It had been some time since she'd returned to the lands of her father, and it had been to find those lands claimed by an unrelated pack. A pity, but she had moved on from Fireside's dissolution long ago. Her father's betrayal, considerably less so, which had made it easier to swallow it when the pack had broken apart. Not so the Finnvi's subsequent scattering, the which still burned in her to resolve. She'd set out to the lands of her mother, the lands of her grandfather and great grandmother, the homeland of the Finnvi themselves, hoping to find them there, but too many had not done the same. It had eaten at her, and she'd returned here unwilling to let the Finnvi legacy in these lands die. She was not the same wolf who had been born in these lands, nor even the great grandmother who was her namesake. She had grown beyond what even they had been, and she did not walk alone. Rollo strolled confidently beside her now, his fluffy tail held straight up and quivering in anticipation that otherwise didn't show on his serene face. Omen tacked about in the winds somewhere overhead, her harsh calls sometimes drifting down. She came to a stop when the form of another wolf came into view, darker and younger, heavier than Katja. Katja tilted her head slightly to regard the stranger before continuing towards them. She moved with a purposeful stride, her destination clearly the distant stranger. They'd either meet her in the middle, or not, but there was not much a wolf could be doing here but seeking a battle, and that was something Katja was more than willing to offer.

Lefty's head dips down, as their opponent approaches. She directs March to one side, and Storm-Eye to another; the companions move as directed. There are no words spoken, because there do not need to be words. Not between those like them. Lefty does smile, just a bit, her jaws twitching into a little grin -- because this is a woman, clearly, who at least knows to fight. Lefty approached, meeting Katja in the middle, and there -- why. There there were words, spoken on lips that had much experience behind them:

"I wish you good luck." Lefty murmurs, then drops into a battle stance. She gives Katja a moment, of course, to ready herself. Then --

Lefty charges forth.

The move is swift. Strong. Simple. A snap of the fangs at the side of Katja's face. Testing reaction. Testing movement.

It had begun.

"Speech"

Lefty vs Katja for Spar
Round 1/3
Age: Over 1 Year
Size: Medium
Build: Heavy
Companion 1: Wolverine, Female - Battle
Companion 2: Black-Thighed Falconet, Male, 12" Wingspan - Battle
Skills: Novice Intellectual & Beginner Fighter