Go hunt.

Why?

I am going to spar with Ophelia.

You do not want me to hurt her.

You’re right. I do not want you to hurt her. She means too much, and your bite is too ferocious.

What about her dragon?

You do not need any more dragon’s blood on your paws, Loretta.

The bitch grunted at the stallion’s last comment, but she trailed away into the depths of the woods surrounding the Hidden Falls territory, her favorite hunting grounds. She had traversed them and fed herself within their confines since she was a pup, and still to this day she could find the plumpest of rabbits and the fullest nests of eggs in that forest. The threshold was close, so in her hunting she would also be able to scout for her bondmate of any wandering newcomers looking for a home to call their own.

Archibald snorted as she left, his body in a firm trot carrying him up the sloping path to the Heavenly Fields. He wondered if Ophelia would be waiting on him, or if he would wait for the white Lady. When Archibald accompanied Ktulu to Ophelia’s side, Ophelia had been waiting for them. In the time that Archibald had known her, she had always been quite punctual. It was in her more refined nature—or what she played off to be her nature—and it was one of the aspects of the Forsaken that Archibald appreciated. He, too, thought time mattered greatly. To respect someone’s time was to show them you respected them and Archibald believed he and the Forsaken to have great respect for each other.

As the giant crested the hill into the field, he let his gait fall back into a determined walk. Golden eyes scanned the arena he had chosen. It was flat, dry, and clear of any large obstacles. This spar with Ophelia was not driven out of malice or spite, but merely out of a need to practice. As long as the pair had known each other and had been involved in battle together, they never sought each other as opponents. Archibald believed that this needed to change, and it was why he had asked her to meet him here today. The sun fell behind the horizon, blanketing the world in the dim and musky light of dusk. The air was cool, though dry, and whispered the soon-coming promise of winter. Archibald let a breath out carefully as he stopped in his chosen battlefield, a white puff forming before his pale nostrils.




[WC: | PC: 0/3 | Heavenly Fields, dusk. Air is cool and dry, the land is flat and even with no large or notable obstacles. | @[Ophelia] -- I hope it was ok I wrote this as if it were planned! :3]