The crunch of snow under the massive paws of Osiris, as well as the slow swirl of air between the thick fur of his coat, are the only sounds made moments before the hybrid crosses paths with the smaller wolf. To ordinary eyes, the poor Alaskan wolf had little chance of battling the larger grey, unless he managed to be levels more adept at movement. For all of the bulk that the draft cross held, the limber half of his lineage kept him from being a slow giant like many of his genetic cousins. On the inside, Osiris is calm and placcid, his face surely reflecting that dull sort of interest even as his jaw opens wide in a violent sneer to reveal rows of teeth that search hungrily from the flesh of another. This wolf was little more than a child, and the hybrid would make sure he came to this realization sooner rather than later, when a much more malevolent opponent awaited him.

Golden eyes do not see surprised as serrated teeth meet with nothing but the chill air of the night. His body is small and swift, but the nimble giant has the advantage of longer limbs with quick reflexes as well. Meeting no resistance, Osiris's long gait continues forward, before Lupus has a chance to leap at him. With the down shift of his front end, the large wolf drags his paws upward, flinging ice and snow shards but also long legs toward the right in a cow-kick, aiming for a face or perhaps gut of the stupid animal as he leaps toward the side of Osiris. The claws of the Alaskan wolf, hardly sharp enough to tear skin with such light pressure of his minuscule weight, will find no purchase on the thick fur of Osiris, and the teeth which aim to bite his flesh only seem to pinch on the side of his ass, near the hip joint, due to the movement of his cow-kick.

The still-shedding winter coat of the massive beast provides a strange protection. The wolf of white would likely leave with teeth full of old, dirty and musky hair, while the hybrid escapes with little more than a grunt of pain at the small pinch on his side. What a fool this tiny wolf is, Osiris thinks with a half chortle. Comadre trills above, happy to see his bonded so contented with himself, yet confused as to why the hybrid is risking injury and wasting time in the middle of the night.

When his back paws meet the snow, the grey tosses his weight to all four paws, taking advantage of the pause that the Alaskan mutt falling back down toward the snow would have after his shameful attack, and leaping toward the left in the snow, while careening his back left end farther than his right. Crouched onto four bent legs that resemble much more a wolf's than that of a horse, Osiris and his opponent stand at a strange, obtuse angle from where he imagined the other wolf would have landed, head pointed in the direction of the smaller white. With no hint of a warning, the grey leaps forward, propelling his weight from his back legs, aiming toward the Alaskan white, wherever he now stood. Osiris would bulldoze the little brat into reality.

[ WC: 573; 2/3 ]
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