- Jun 20, 2024
- 13
- 0
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" Yield? " It's a simple statement in a flat tone, a one - word monotone spoken with the same unmoving cadence as his morning greeting or patrol communications. There's not the slightest hint of bloodlust, of pulse - thumping rage, even of befitting arrogance; in any other situation, one would expect none of these. However, with one massive paw plastering a Clanmate's face to the dusty ground in a ( relatively ) secluded corner of their still slightly soot - dusted camp, it's almost stranger that his voice is so devoid of anything except an expertly concealed shred of . . . what? Disappointment, contempt, respect? It's impossible to calculate what that buried note is.
Once Coldbite receives an affirmative, he obligingly frees their face from the earth, lifting his other foreleg off where it lightly pins their throat against the ground, force carefully measured so as not to crush an ally's windpipe. The way he clambers off the other cat is all function, flicking his doggish tail to free it of excess dust or grime, claws remaining carefully sheathed and face impassive regardless of how his defeated opponent reacts. For any who had watched the course of the spar, an event marked by silence except for hard - won breaths ( on his end, at least ), it may be startling; moment's before, the houndlike tom had been demonstrating the kind of brute ferocity seen in few beside his former namesake.
" Any takers? " he asks in his usual gruff tone as he shakes his head side to side, puppyish, to further dislodge any dust from his own momentary pinnings. " Could go for another, " Coldbite adds as he grinds sand into calloused pawpads with the shifting of his forelegs; this is quite possibly the most words any Clanmate has heard him say so close together.
Once Coldbite receives an affirmative, he obligingly frees their face from the earth, lifting his other foreleg off where it lightly pins their throat against the ground, force carefully measured so as not to crush an ally's windpipe. The way he clambers off the other cat is all function, flicking his doggish tail to free it of excess dust or grime, claws remaining carefully sheathed and face impassive regardless of how his defeated opponent reacts. For any who had watched the course of the spar, an event marked by silence except for hard - won breaths ( on his end, at least ), it may be startling; moment's before, the houndlike tom had been demonstrating the kind of brute ferocity seen in few beside his former namesake.
" Any takers? " he asks in his usual gruff tone as he shakes his head side to side, puppyish, to further dislodge any dust from his own momentary pinnings. " Could go for another, " Coldbite adds as he grinds sand into calloused pawpads with the shifting of his forelegs; this is quite possibly the most words any Clanmate has heard him say so close together.
