pafp AUT VIAM INVENIAM AUT FACIAM ✦ SPAR

[DOEBLAZE]

" Spar with me? "

The request is made with a firmly set jaw and eyes rounded despite their tired droop. She is not quite sure where to find her footing with @SILVERSMOKE —she had not luxuriated in their mutual dislike, as some cats did, and she is not apt to return to it by setting a paw upon rotten ice. They had not gotten along from the start, but the start is a long time ago now, and they are changed cats, the both of them. He makes Johnnyflame very happy, that much she can see, and that is momentarily enough for her. And yet, she's not quite sure how to express this mending, or how to discover if it is indeed mutual; so she extends the spar like an olive branch.

Also, she knows Silversmoke is a talented fighter who won't pull any punches, which is exactly what she needs. Not to mention large, which seems to be her opponent archetype. Somewhere amidst hunting and fighting and tracking, her combat skills had fallen by the wayside—where natural ability and supplemental lessons had patched the holes left by Blazestar's training in other areas, she still finds herself distinctly lacking when claw meets claw. Enter: literally anyone who will humor her frequent requests for sparring partners. Silversmoke, if he's anything like his protege, will offer the kinds of no - holds - barred challenge she needs to improve.

Once he assents, she nods briskly and begins to pace a half - circle of battle in the light between the trees; the shafts of brilliant sunlight rolling across the Sandy Ravine are ever - so - slightly washed out, like an overexposed photograph, as the sky prepares to descend into dusk. A strong wind whips her cheek fur but doesn't deter her as she springs in a show of unusual initiative, aiming to come up beneath Silversmoke's chin with a hard one - pawed swing to the jaw.

OOC : Please wait for Silversmoke to post!
HP – 16 / 16
Rolled a 6 to attack!

✦

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[SILVERSMOKE]

Heterochromatic eyes fell upon the deerlike she-cat as she approached him, his ears twitching with anticipation of confrontation. They were like fire and water, fated to dislike one another, but, the part of him that respected his clanmates wished it would not be that way. He'd always thought the fault lied with the warriors who didn't embrace tradition, that if they just complied with the rules they'd agreed to when they joined, he wouldn't feel so agitated around them. Yet, Doeblaze had done that now, shed her name and her past, had a grown family amidst his home... and he still found her gravely irritating. Perhaps, then, the fault lay with him.

If there was one place where his negative emotions could be sated, it was the battlefield. It had always been stress relief the tom, a sincere hobby more than a thing to feel horrified about. Spars scratched that itch fine enough as it was, for his goal had never been to hurt, only to learn to defend what he cared about (something that could, admittedly, be lost in the heat of the moment). He'd heard the joke that he would live in the Sandy Ravine if he could, but it didn't feel so facetious about the idea. It was where he spent most of his time, where most warriors would find him if he was not in camp, always searching for a challenge, always finding new ways to fight. He blinked at being approached first about a spar, but offered a nod so hastily it was a miracle he even had bones in his neck. "Fine."

That was how it started. Finding himself opposite the smaller she-cat, the spotted tabby's tail swayed like a charmed snake, head tilted at an angle to keep Doeblaze in his sights. She charged first and his paws squared, weight carried on his hind legs in case he needed to spring into action. A fallow-and-white paw disappeared amidst a blur, but before he could react, a sharp pain rocked through his chin. He angled his head downwards, pupils narrowing to slits. His fur spiked out as if shaking off the hit and, with a heavy swing on Doeblaze's blindside, he aimed to clock the other right to the side of her head. Power, moreso than technique, made up the tom's attack, assessing the other's reactions, assessing how far he would have to go to be victorious against the other.

|| HP: 15/16

Defend: 5 (took 1 damage)
Attack: 8

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[Howlfire]

Following the sound of exertion, Howlfire is unsurprised to see some of her clanmates sparring. It is a good way to burn energy and keep your skills sharp, should you need them. When Howlfire appears on the scene, she finds herself more surprised to see Silversmoke being one of the cats sparring. He appeared to have recovered well from his disappearance, though Howlfire hadn't expected to see him back in such an energetic form so soon.

"Mind if I watch?" She crooned softly. Howlfire did not wait for a response before sitting, curling a tail around her paws, and watching as Doeblaze and Silversmoke. Doeblaze moves swiftly she noted, coming up on Silversmoke and delivering a sharp blow under the chin, which seemed to catch him off guard. It works - or at least it appeared to do so from this angle. She sees the larger tom spike his fur out, almost as if shaking off the hit. Howlfire waits to see what he does next, watching as he pulls a paw back, aiming to hit her on the side of the head.​

 

[DOEBLAZE]

Never has she considered herself one who delights in combat, but she has to admit, there's something satisfying about the way her paw connects with his chin. She could get used to this, she thinks, the darting, leaping dance of combat. There's something almost artful about the higher - level spars she's sat in on, and a similar finesse guides Silversmoke's swaying motions, the effortlessly calibrated power behind his hits and the way he seems to catch her maneuvers before she even knows what she's doing. If only she took as quickly to this as, say, Emberpaw—each bit of progress she's made over the past moons has felt nothing short of agonizing to get. Countless hard landings in the dust and conceded matches, and she's still well below the level.

Maybe she's getting better, though—she all but flies out of the way of Silversmoke's swing, and the heavy whoosh of a hit she can hear but not see tells her that one might've knocked her right out of the game. Doeblaze has dropped instinctually low to let the larger cat's hit connect with naught but air, her belly nearly as low as a snake's. Howlfire's voice is faded, as if underwater; focused as she is, tunnel - vision takes over, and she doesn't catch the chocolate torbie's words. The momentary rush of the successful dodge ripples quietly through her veins, manifesting in a satisfying burn of her shoulder - muscle, and again she thinks: I could get used to this.

She springs up from her crouch, aiming to connect both paws in hits to his chest. Inexperienced as she is, though, her offensive maneuver is not nearly so successful as her defensive—she sets herself up all wrong, relying too heavily on her momentum and knocking herself off - balance, pulling half the power of the swings.

OOC : HP – 16 / 16
Rolled an 8 to defend; took no damage!
Rolled a 4 to attack.

✦

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[SILVERSMOKE]

Eyes widened and refocused as his paw connected only with thin air, his ears pinning to his skull to protect them as if it were a real fight. There was a brief stutter within his chest, not quite fear, nor the belief he'd underestimate his opponent, but something... perhaps surprised that she'd had the reaction times to dodge. It had always been a skill he presumed to be built up, like strength or speed, in Doeblaze, it almost appeared innate. Had he not been in the middle of combat, he may have grown jealous.

Before it was a fraction too late, he spotted the shift of haunches below a shaggy pelt. He twisted his body with a duck and a roll, finding his way to Doeblaze's side in one swift maneuver. He did not want to think about how close it truly was to working, but also, he was not sure what would have happened had instinct not taken over. She was a smaller cat, would she truly have been able to press the advantage with a frontal attack?

There's a voice in the background, bleeding into the sound of his heartbeat roaring in his ears. Someone was cheering, or asking to watch, or something. It would only be after the fight that he recognised it as Howlfire. As Doeblaze landed, the spotted tabby pounced after her, relentless. Moons ago, it'd have been like a nature documentary, a lynx hunting a deer. Now, it was more balanced, but that did not mean he would feel good losing. While he presumed her balance was compromised, he aimed to barrel into Doeblaze with his full body weight and knock her off her paws.

|| HP: 16/16

Defend: 5 (took no damage)
Attack: 7
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