Word Count: 300 For Hezekiahface. ;D Thread title is "farewell forever" in Latin, according to some website. XD

There was quiet for a moment, and Sicarus's tan-furred head swiveled from packmate to packmate, fire-gold eyes inspecting each warrior. More should have come, but this was what they had to work with—this would have to do. If only Kai hadn't succumbed to the coyotes already! He would certainly be here to partake of this lovely battle. As he searched the faces of his allies, he realized they were waiting. Slowly, almost disdainfully, he looked to the woman. She had drawn back—and yet she was the one who had called them all here for her! So typical, always thinking that they could count on the menfolk to protect them and get dirty for them. Bitch, Sicarus thought, turning his attention back to their actual attackers rather than focusing on his own problems.

He sized up the coyotes; they were all small, but as Sicarus was also not of great stature, he did not have so large an advantage as the sable fellow or the man lurking in the bushes. The tawny-furred man's nose wrinkled, his golden-yellow eyes narrowing as he looked at the nearest of these—his fur was a dull brown, his bright blue eyes seemed eager... well, if no one was going to get the party started, Sicarus might as well! “Nobiscum Deus!” he screamed, tossing his head back and flinging himself toward the tawny man, his Optime paws eating up the distance between them, swinging one of his clawed fists towards the sandy-furred coyote's face, aiming the dangerous swipe downward across his cheek. Sicarus was not particularly skilled with these face-to-face battles, of course—but he liked to hurt and he liked to see creatures bleed. Bloodshed was all that mattered now; he would see the dirt run red with Inferni's dirty coyote blood today.

Word Count: 222 ROOOOAR <3

The desire to prove himself to Haku was strong within Sicarus. Dahlia de Mai needed a victory here; the pack deserved no less, and Sicarus would be the one to lead the charge. He had no idea who his packmates were and he did not care; they did not matter to the tawny-furred male. They would either prove themselves in battle, or they would fall and prove themselves worthless. One of the two, and Sicarus was determined to prove himself worthwhile of Haku's time and effort. The chocolate-furred man had offered him home and sustenance within the pack, and Sicarus was required to do the man's bidding.

His blow struck! The golden-eyed man leaned in eagerly, already breathing hard from the adrenaline and the thrill of battle. There was no blood; the blow had been superficial at best, and it hadn't even done a good job at stunning the pale brown coyote. Already the young man was counterattacking, launching himself toward Sicarus with his teeth bared. The coyote latched himself onto Sicarus's arm close to the shoulder, fangs drawing blood from the flesh there. Growling and snarling exploded from the Dahlia's throat and he flailed wildly, wailing his other arm toward the other coyote's face and shoulders, hardly bothering to even aim his blows. It didn't matter, he had to hit something!

The tawny-furred werewolf never considered his opponents feelings or desires—they did not matter, of course. They were targets, that was all. Haku wanted them dead, and so they should be—Sicarus could not fail the chocolate-hued alpha, or he would find himself expelled quickly. Haku did not seem like the type to tolerate failure in the least, and the orange-eyed Sicarus would not be one to disappoint. His fist had hit something, he felt the softness of flesh beneath it—but the blows were doing nothing to disengage the coyote on his arm, and Sicarus grew panicky, thrashing about and flailing his arms still to disengage the coyote. Most of his hits missed, he was so frantic—there was something wild and uncontrollable in the tawny-hued man, and his mind was completely blanked, free of thought. He had ceased to think logically; it might have occurred to him to slash upward at the man's belly or aim his strikes for the jaw, perhaps to crush it—but no such thing happened within Sicarus, who continued his flailing, finally bringing his claws to the battle, though his swings remain just as wild, his deadly claws slicing through the air next to Hezekiah rather than into the man's flesh most of the time.

;~~~; hezebutt.

He would triumph today. Haku would be pleased with his catch and his service to Dahlia de Mai today, he was sure of it. The tawny-furred canine was doing a good job, far better than that useless girl who'd called them all here and stepped away from them. The pain in his arm worsened as the other canine's teeth dug into it and the sandy-furred coyote attempted to pull downward, maybe trying to pull Sicarus's arm out of his socket or something equally batty. A yowl of pain rose from the tawny Charme's throat, and he gave one more punch toward the other canine's head before Hezekiah let go, falling toward the earth. Triumphantly Sicarus crowed over this prize, baring his own teeth in a rather wicked snarl. He'd see blood today, he knew it. Flinging himself forward, the wolf threw himself on top of the other canine blindly, twisting his head away to avoid attacks toward his face and throat, trying to use his weight to pin the other canine to the ground.

As always, let me know if the powerplay is no good. ;;

Success! The other canine was beneath him now, his body in the dirt. The tawny werewolf was over him now, but he was no longer interested in gloating, however brief it had been. Now he wanted to see the blood flow, and the intensity which had marked him since the start of the battle raged to a new pitch, driving him forward and over the other wolf, his fists swinging wildly toward the other canine's face. Sicarus did not think the male had become less dangerous now that he was on the ground—a smart blow from sharp claws could still disembowel the Dahlian rather easily, and though he toppled over the other man he tried to dodge the other man's hits. Blows glanced off of his shoulder and the sides of his head, sharp claws nicking the tawny-furred Dahlian, splitting tiny and meaningless wounds into his flesh. One blow got him good across the side of his muzzle, opening up a jagged cut there. Blood leaked out of his face and flowed over his upper lip, adding menace to his snarl as he descended on the other man, his crimson-stained teeth driving ever-forward toward the prize of the other man's throat.