[Daragca]

Event [#event]

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Owlthroat
he/him | Shadowclan Enforcer | 46 moons
Killer Aptitude T3 - Just A Scratch - Silver Tongue T2
The Dancing Bird

TW: Blood

Owlthroat truly revelled in his success, his claws finding contact with Rookfire’s side. But the tom wasn’t daft, Owlthroat’s blinding may have given him an advantage and secured a hit. But he soon felt the writhe of hind legs connecting with his underbelly pushing him back. Rookfire’s sharp teeth piercing his foreleg drawing another few droplets, Rookfire could’ve bit down harder and snapped the limb. In a foreign sense it was comforting to know he still had the rules in his mind, particularly with the barbarism the two had quickly made their descent. A permanent injury would be less than ideal for his job. A job he intended to hold onto with gasping breaths and fire like spirit.

The two had almost switched positions, Owlthroat now exposed and vulnerable to what could come next. And dear Starclan did it come. Rookfire wasted none of his momentum and lashed forward, a similar sporting injury to the one he’d delivered moments ago to Rookfire. A matching pair resembling albeit two sides of the same coin. It burned through his thick pelt casting more of the all to familiar ooze, in the back of his mind he was cursing yet another visit to Sleepysunrise after this was all over. He’d seen enough of her face for his whole life if he was being honest with himself. His teeth gritted through the mark and he steeled himself once more.

Rookfire rose up, aiming to bring down his fury onto Owlthroat’s chest, in a split second the Enforcer rolled further onto his back. A risky gamble but a successful one, Rookfire’s paws landing on either side of the dirt surrounding his lungs. He’d saved his breath for now.

The white and red lumbering giant dug his claws into the earth in a flash, pulling himself free. Not completely from reach, but with enough space to pull something off. This gamble came with even more risk than the last. A move so precise, it was almost an impossibility to land in the heat of claws. One he’d only ever seen and practised as a mere amusement.

Owlthroat was a gambling man.

Honed Skill Activated - Staff Approved PP

The large cat wheeled his body around, both hind legs lifting with the force of a mule. He needed no claws for this. Both paws flew backwards, connecting squarely with Rookfire’s tiny hitbox of a jaw. Rookfire spun upwards, riveting then plummeting, directly onto his back.

Owlthroat turned himself back around, his tail lashed furiously with a nervous energy. Disbelievement lashed into every inch of his face that he’d managed to pull off a stunt of such magnitude. As the two birds had danced. His eyes were slitted, fixed upon Rookfire.

Watching.
Waiting.
What next?

[ @alec @SuspiciousMindz ]