Duel Vulpinsula & Surroundings Insanely Rich Area Forged in Fur and Flame

[Darragh Harper]

Darragh stretched, seeming to elongate himself as he reached, windmilled his arms, touched his toes, and cracked his joints with relish. He moved out into the centre of the room, and bounced a little from one footpaw to the other. His tail flicked with an impatient energy.

“So! First rule o’ fightin’,” Darragh began. Then, he hesitated. “Well... actually, the first rule o’ fightin’ is ‘Don’t Get Into Fights,’ but a jack’s gotta make do, so let’s skip that one.”

Darragh cleared his throat a little self-consciously. As much as he was Swifttail’s friend, it felt odd to be teaching a beast older than himself. “Ahem… well, seein’ as you will be in a fight…”

The stoat bit his lip, and paused again. The next advice he wanted to give was that Swifttail had to accept that he was going to get hurt. In boxing and brawling, you were bound to take hits, no matter how good you thought you were. If there was a knife or dagger involved, you would be rushed to a surgeon afterwards if you survived, no ifs or buts about it. Fighting in real life was a messy business, not the daredevil heroics of serials printed on pulp.

It wasn’t a fight-fight though, or at least not the kind Darragh was used to. It was a duel to first blood, with swords. That meant Darragh’s expertise would have to be limited to where Swift was putting his head, his body, and his footpaws. Bobbing and weaving, dodging and pivoting, perhaps even a bit of tumbling.

“Alright, I have a better way of goin' about this!” Darragh said firmly, taking up his stance. “I prefer practice to theory, and it’s better you see for yourself how this works. So… hit me. And watch what I do closely!”

The stoat raised his arms to shield his head, and shifted his weight back and forth from his right footpaw forward, to his left footpaw back. He smiled at Swifttail in what he hoped was encouragement. He was sure things would click into place in the fox’s mind once he saw the techniques demonstrated.

All Darragh needed was for Swifttail to punch him in the face!

 

[SwifttailTheFox]

Swifttail couldn’t help it... the moment Darragh stumbled over his own “first rule,” laughter bubbled out of him. The stoat’s awkward mix of seriousness and sheepish charm was disarming in the best way. It took the edge off the nerves curling in his gut.

"Aye, I’ll keep that one in mind," he managed between chuckles, tail swaying lazily behind him. "Rule one, don’t get in fights. Might be a bit late for that, though."

Swifttail watched Darragh stretch and bounce about the hall, tail flicking in time with every jittery movement. The stoat looked like a spring wound tight! The sight alone pulled a laugh from the fox’s throat and, before he knew it, he was mirroring a few of those stretches himself the best that he could muster. Awkwardly, stiff and sore, but grinning all the same.

"Ye move like ye’ve got a storm bottled up inside ye," he teased lightly, rolling his shoulders until something in his back popped. "If I can learn half o’ that, maybe I’ve a chance after all."

He tried to follow the rhythm, paws shifting, tail counterbalancing as Darragh demonstrated. It was clumsy, sure, but there was something fun in it. A flicker of that reckless, kit-like energy that begged for tumbling and play fights in the dust.

Then Darragh said it.

"Hit me."

Swift froze mid-motion, ears perked, then flattened in disbelief. "Hit ye? Ye’re serious?"

The stoat only smiled that maddening, confident smile.

Swift’s own grin faltered. His wrapped paw flexed out of habit, the ache a dull reminder of what carelessness could cost him. He didn’t want to hurt his friend. Darragh was helping him, and all of this… it was supposed to be about learning, not lashing out... But that’s what he’d have to do, wasn’t it?

The thought settled in like a cold weight. This stupid duel. The smug gleam in Greeneye’s eyes. Silvertongue caught between them like some prize to be won. The bile rose within him before he could stop it. Anger, hot and sharp, bled into his veins until it drowned out everything else.

How dare he!? How DARE he put him through such unnecessary brutishness!

His jaw clenched. His breathing quickened.

HOW DARE HE try to orchestrate his life. To force him to stoop to such a level just to set the fox that he felt sorry for free.

Suddenly the stoat wasn’t standing there anymore. Darragh’s grin and stance blurred and twisted, morphing in his rage until all he could see was Greeneye.

The bastard’s laugh rang in his ears, booming over the echo of his own pulse. His claws curled tight. His tail lashed hard.

Without thinking, Swifttail surged forward. The air seemed to thicken around him as his paw drew back, weight driving through his legs, everything his body could muster pouring into that one furious motion.

He didn’t mean to swing so hard… but when the anger finally left him, it did so through his fist. Aimed right where the clever stoat had planned it to be.