A/N:Not really going anywhere with this, I wrote it as an RP sample and liked it. Enjoy!
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Blood swathed the small clearing as if the ground itself had been slashed by mighty claws, and had been bleeding so long that no one noticed anymore. Sides heaving with exhaustion, the few surviving wolves fixed each other with determined glares. None would be willing to compromise, and none would be willing to die without a vicious fight. The choice was theirs alone, and the outcome would cost them everything from death to territory but not pride. They stubbornly kept that small initiative raging in the pits of their growling stomachs.
A battered silver timber wolf arched his neck aggressively, letting a growl resonate between the trees. He was answered without a moment’s pause by the threat of a scarred black wolf. The timber wolf acknowledged his opponent eagerly, too tired even to taunt him but ready to fight to the death.
The two large wolves circled each other, sizing the other up expertly. The timber wolf’s eyes caught the slightest hesitation in the dark wolf’s hind paw, the tremble of muscle fatigue, a wound that was bleeding heavily. He knew the eyes of the other wolf were finding his weaknesses, the effects of the battle. He had a bleeding shoulder that felt as if the muscle itself had been ripped open, as well as several bruises along his side.
With a yowl of pure rage, the silver-furred wolf launched a hard attack at his opponent, aiming to land with his fangs on the back to pull the wolf sideways into belly-up position.
He found himself, instead, surrounded in a cloud of dust. The wolf had slithered away, out of reach. His lungs protested against the inhaled dirt, but he ignored it. Pain is weakness.
More ‘weakness’ racked through his body as the black wolf hit him full-on in the side. His breath huffed out of him like a cloud of poisonous gas, but he forced himself to move with the motion into a roll. He flipped to his feet and twisted his sore body over the scarred wolf in an attempt to pin him to the ground.
But he had misjudged his opponent’s speed again, and found himself belly-up. His soft, exposed fur was within range of the other. One bite, one more attack, and he would never run through the forest again, never help the Pack take down a bull moose, curl up nose to tail in the freezing wind, or howl to the vast sky on a calm smooth night…
He was too tired, the fight had taken too much out of him. The black wolf arched his neck in recognized alpha position, ready for the strike. With one last breath, the timber wolf read the blazing eyes of the relentless black wolf and recognized him. His opponent’s right eye was darker than his left, a small scar above it from a pup scuffle. A pup scuffle that got a little out of hand, one that involved a silver furred pup and a black pup.
One just like this, where both refused to lose and were willing to fight simply out of pride. In glazed confusion, the timber wolf raised his head feebly and flicked out his tongue to gently rasp his brother’s ear.
