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Finbar stood up as quickly as he could, spitting out the bits of nature. It was nasty but he paid no mind, nor did he even feel the intense pain that inflamed his lower half; he was too busy looking for another way to strike, to win.
“Better, I suppose,” commented Thorn, gruffly but genuinely. “I can see you beginning to think.”
Running at Thorn once more, he leaped above to dive down at him, to hopefully grab the back of his neck or the flesh of his dorsal parts. Finbar actually ended up getting a hold of his neck, and tried to wrestle him to the ground using his own weight, but this backfired dramatically when Thorn seemingly utilized the same strategy and fell on top of the white wolf-dog.
Under the massive wolf, the entirety of Finbar’s breath was crushed out of his lungs. His insides burned and contorted in throes of agony, worsened every time he fought to free himself. Trying to let out a scream, he found that no noise escaped his maw for there was no longer any breath in him.
“I think I’ll nap here,” Thorn yawned, then rested his lofty head on his unkempt paws, all while Finbar struggled for life beneath him to no avail.
Finbar glanced over to Sorley and Silvera, where he could see the female blank faced, watching him, and the male just about as unmoved. Why did they not care that he was being killed?
His vision blurred, and fear rose to extremely high levels; he simply needed air, now!
In desperation, Finbar found a strength that he did not know that he had; the wolf-dog reached his head around and bit the ear of Thorn, grossly leaking saliva everywhere, on himself and on the gray male. Thorn reacted in surprise, pulling away instinctively, which ended up tearing his ear off. Finbar spat it out onto the ground, a small bit of blood that was not his own trickling from his lips.
Finbar did not have the strength to stand just yet, still light-headed and seeing double, but he was able to catch a glimpse of his opponent backing away from him, angry with a few streams of scarlet running down the right side of his face.
The white wolf-dog coughed, saturating his oxygen-starved body with much needed air. Proud of himself for breaking skin before Thorn had been able to break his, he let a haughty smirk dance upon his lips; surely this would be counted for something to Lady Silvera.
Thorn saw this and snarled, his rumbles sending vibrations through the ground which Finbar could feel. It intimidated him, so he ceased his prideful expression, flattening his ears just a tad bit. “Lady Silvera,” Thorn called out, never taking his glare off the wolf-dog, “I request that you make an allowance for me to exact súl.”
Silvera dipped her head, closing her eyes. “You may.”
Finbar held his breath. “Súl?” he questioned aloud.
No answer came.
Before he knew it, Thorn charged and was upon him, pinning him on his back into the ground. Finbar tried to fight back but by now his muscles were used, and not in any shape to progress him any further in this match; he was totally helpless, and at the mercy of the male.
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Fangs closed down on his throat, just barely stopping before they punctured the skin. Thorn shook him around, to and fro, like a chew toy. When the scarred wolf decided that he was done, he quickly released Finbar and shot at his left ear, mouth agape, flashing sharp stakes.
Shhhrip!
A disgusting sound echoed in Finbar’s ear, followed by a stinging pain. He yelped and batted at Thorn, who now held half of his torn off ear in his mouth.
Spitting it to the side, he smirked down at the beaten wolf-dog. “Whatever you do to another, you must expect it to be returned,” Thorn said calmly, nose to nose with him, the details of his deep fleshy scar being the thing that stood out the most visually, “I believe this makes us even.”
The gray male strutted off toward the other two bystanders, lightly kicking him with his back leg under the chin as he passed over him.
Silence fell in the Birches for a moment, as not only Finbar but everyone gathered their bearings and processed the events that had just transpired.
Some kind of conversation began between Silvera and Thorn, but Finbar did not listen; he moved onto his belly and rested his head on the cool soil. His breathing was labored, not because he had broken anything but because of the stress that had overtaken his body as well as the adrenaline.
He trembled, not because he was a coward but because of the overdose of hormones that had flooded him, and due to being given such a glamorous wounded ear. Finbar felt the sensation of warm liquid pouring down the left side of his face and thickly furred neck.
At first he was angry, but as he thought about it he relaxed; perhaps the grumpy brute was right, and this could be a great lesson for Finbar. He fought back a serpentine snare rising up in his heart, for it was pride; that had its place, but it was not right now. Learning must never be compromised or prevented by the sin of pride. With a deep breath, the hurt wolf-dog sat up and studied the sky, for peace and clarity; that entire time Thorn had only dealt what Finbar had dealt to him, and when the male’s ear had been taken he’d asked to make things even.
Finbar had not even considered asking permission to injure to the point of blood, he had only let his fury drive him blindly. Though, to be fair, he had thought he would die and so his actions were understandably desperate.
Would he face punishment for his actions? Regardless, he knew what he needed to do.
Finbar sighed and shakily stood up, then made his way carefully to the group, head low. “Lady Silvera,” he acknowledged her, then continued. “I will face any reprimand for what I’ve done today. I submit.”
The brown-and-silver female approached him, eyeing him down gravely. Finbar flattened his ears and lowered his tail, expecting to be beaten or snapped at, but to his bewilderment that never came. “Your submission is appreciated,” she said, oddly softly. “You have done nothing wrong, for all is fair in combat. Though, next time, we ask that you not significantly wound any of the pack members; this is but training, not a real scenario.”
Finbar’s resolute expression turned to a smile, his ears perking up and his tail ever so slightly beginning to wag. “That’s wonderful! I mean, yes, I will do my best to avoid that in the future, Lady Silvera.”
Thorn huffed humorously at the wolf-dog while Sorley licked his ear clean.
Silvera’s green eyes watched Finbar curiously. “You did well for one who was not so long ago a lap dog. Though, Sir Thorn is a seasoned soldier, and he has not survived this long just for an inexperienced newcomer to beat him. He was going easy on you, until the end. You had no chance of winning.”
“I suppose that means I failed the assessment, then,” Finbar lowered his head, feeling a bit sad.
Silvera paused, then seemingly cracked what Finbar could have sworn was a smile, however small. “You demonstrated exactly what I wanted you to; you showed me that deep within you lives the spirit of a soldier, even if your body cannot keep up yet.”
Finbar grinned, then tilted his head, with a joy rising up in his heart.
“You have passed the combat assessment, wolf-dog,” Silvera turned to lead the group out of the Birches. “Come, and I will direct you to your next trial; you will go out with myself, Sorley, Thorn and Marco. You will find an animal of any kind, kill it in the way designated by our pack tradition, and then return it to camp. This will show us how well you can provide for our pack-mates.”