set in the stables somewhere...
It had been heavy, but nothing that the large stallion couldn’t manage. The hybrid had to drag it that few last feet, create a pulley to raise it and get it into place. The bag hung from a large chain, filled with sand to give it weight. He couldn’t even use it the day he rigged it, the energy drained from his form completely. But he was back, beneath the massive beam that held it aloft and ready to take on the heavy bag. Hands prepared, wrapped with cloth to keep his knuckles from slitting, the male took the stance his paws were so practiced and defended his face from the inanimate foe.
As his sung he thought of the coyote that had approached Lumière, red eyed glowing and speaking of blood and pain. He moved quickly, again and again as the bag returned to him in it’s swing. He let the anger rise, like a tide that rolled through the muscles of his arms and cascaded through the oversized paws his possessed. It had been some time since he had hit another beast, with his fists. Sober. And he knew he was out of practice.
Gold eyes saw the yotes face melt away, replaced by the black eyes of the golden collie male. Heath spread his arms out, paws catching the heavy bag before he punched it again. His breath was heavy, and the lanky coy-wolf stepped back and watched the punching bag sway slightly. He of course hadn't forgotten the free shot the King had taken... With a massive swing the black arm of his south paw took a belly shot, deep in the gut of the heavy canvas. A grow rattled through his throat, as Heath drew the wind out of the sparing partner.