The sound of a body exerting itself caused Vesper to pause in the midst of her hunt. Her blue eyes remained fixed on the hapless rabbit for a couple more seconds, only her ears swiveling back, but then her gaze cut away. She supposed, at least, that that was what she was hearing. Sharpening her skills in vigilance was more important as of late than it had ever been before, and she was rising in the Lumen ranks at an alarming pace since her first time crawling forth from the base rank of Tirones. Throwing herself headlong into her duties had apparently impressed the Aquila, though most of this was to keep herself from going insane with the myriad conflicts dancing on the precipice of her mind.

In one hasty decision, the coywolf threw herself after the rabbit. It kicked up snow and leaves as it tried to flee, but her jaws quickly found one of its thrashing hind legs. She slung it around and tossed it to the ground, one paw slamming mercilessly against its body to pin it before she finished off the animal as quickly as she could. Drawing back, she drew her tongue over coyote teeth before grasping the dead weight in her jaws and turning toward the odd sounds that she had heard earlier.

She paused and cocked her head when she saw the dark man, Àngel, whom she had greeted at the borders. He was lashing out at some makeshift bag hanging from a tree, hands jabbing mercilessly into its leather body. It quaked and threatened to come loose from the tree, but the rope held firm, not allowing the beaten object an escape.

Her ears still tilting like an inquisitive deer’s, Ves dropped the rabbit onto the ground with a soft thud, but one still audible enough to announce her presence. Rather than begin to question him or further introduce herself, she settled down onto the cold grass and began to nibble at the meat, her blue eyes watching him with sharp curiosity and attentiveness.

Blue eyes carefully watched the muscled black arms as they moved, fists hurling repeatedly into the punching bag. She noted his movements, the balance he kept as the leather swung back at him, the power and grace. Her gazing as she tore pieces of fur and meat off the rabbit was not in admiration for the sculpted male form, of course, but rather to learn as much as she could by studying his obvious skill. She was a fighter herself, but not as powerful as she thought she’d been before meeting the fierce coyotes in Inferni.

The large black male turned around then, messing with the protective wraps around his hands. She tilted her head and allowed him his scrutiny before he asked her if he could do anything for her. For a second, Vesper was tempted to answer no and take her leave, but it was best to stay and actually be sociable. She made an effort to rise onto all fours, swallowing a final mouthful of meat before replying.

“Not much other than offering me your abilities,” the pied coywolf said with a hint of amusement that didn’t quite permeate the seriousness of her eyes. “I’ve yet to get used to fighting in optime; it was interesting to watch.”

A smile lightened the dark wolf’s chiseled features and helped the female to relax. She was pretty sure that she outranked him, so she shouldn’t have any fear of stepping on others’ toes anyway, but it was always easier to deal with those who had reasonably good demeanors. It was what separated her own aloof act from the many closed-off and “emotionless” loners out there; she could be cold, yes, but she also didn’t go out of her way to be like that and would crack a smirk at anyone she liked.

After flexing and rolling various muscles, Àngel turned suggested that she come over rather than stalk him. She laughed shortly at this, padding forward then pausing a moment as she urged on the change. As it was the first time, her claws lengthened first, digging into the earth for purchase as the rest of her body warped and jerked and twisted into her bipedal shape. The process took longer than if she had been a born luperci, and it was obvious from her expression that the change still felt unnatural, but she was doing better than she used to, for sure.

Her still feral, angled form stood upright, and the fluff of what remained of her mane bounced lightly as she turned to scrutinize first him then the bag. She heeded his warning then stepped toward the punching bag, clenching one of her fists. Hesitation flickered through her body; she wasn’t used to punches other than as a last resort, a cheap blow to distract her sparring partner while the real damage would be done with swiping claws.

Breathing, Vesper drew her arm back then let a punch fly—and immediately yelped and staggered back, clutching her hand with teeth bared. “Shit, you weren’t kidding,” she hissed, pale blue eyes narrowing at the leather bag. In her frustration, waiting for the pain in her hand to die down, she slashed at the bag with the other and was satisfied to see the bag twist, the burled branch groaning. She sighed. “Not really made for brute force, I guess. Jabbing, maybe.”

The dark-furred man came closer to her, making some remark about a god that she completely chose to ignore. After all, she believed that truly good souls didn’t need religion to have morals, but she didn’t really look down on different beliefs—who was she to say what deities and spirits were really out there?

Instead, she flicked her ears at him then grasped the wraps he tossed to her. Nodding at his advice, she clumsily wrapped the cotton strips around her knuckles, her fingers far from as dexterous as most luperci. However, with some tugging with her teeth, she managed to make sure they were good and tight if not pretty-looking.

By that point, Àngel had stepped close to the bag and demonstrated how to punch it properly. His movements carried the ease of any fighter, something she noted with respect before coming closer to try again. Forming her fist once more, her hands now protected, she sent another jab at the bag. She was rewarded by a lack of pain, even if the punching bag didn’t move very much from her strike.

“You surely don’t lie,” Vesper mumbled, as much praise as she would give him. She aimed a second light punch with her other hand, pleased with how much easier they came. Her technique was not perfect by any means, like a child’s strike next to the larger coyote’s, but she looked less like an awkward fool than before. Punch after punch rained down on the bag until she was beginning to feel the pain again, and she clumsily began to unwrap her hands.

“I’m used to fighting feral,” she said, making a move to hand him the cotton strips. The information flowed from her tongue faster than she recognized how much she was telling him. “I was born non-luperci, used to fighting with body and fang instead of hands.” It was not something that she broadcasted to the others of the clan, even though she didn’t make any move to keep her heritage a secret. She would never deny that part of her, and she was still far more comfortable on four legs than two.

Àngel offered words of encouragement, and when he went on to explain that he trained in his four-legged forms, Vesper could not help but allow surprise to flicker over her angular face. She supposed she shouldn’t be that shocked, however; Inferni valued fighters who were not limited to one shape. Ezekiel had mentioned as much when she’d requested to join. She nodded after a moment to those words, in complete agreement. Even if she resented the fact she had been turned luperci, she would not throw away the advantages the larger forms granted.

Holding his hands up, the dark coyote suggested that she keep the cotton wraps and use them to train. She nodded again, gratitude showing only in a low wave of her tail as she began to tie them again—around her wrists this time, as she didn’t think she’d go back to punching the bag anytime soon. Instead, she pulled them tight as she could then glanced at him somewhat sheepishly.

“How good are you on four legs?” Vesper asked, her uncertainly tilted ears rising again as her expression grew somewhat playful. “Would you mind sparring with me? Just because I’m used to fighting like that doesn’t mean I can’t get rusty.” It would be a different sort of experience, at least, if he did indeed agree to her request. She needed to observe all the different canines she could in order to better anticipate the different styles of her enemies.

She was pleasantly surprised to hear that he was more experienced on four legs; Vesper was generally skeptical about the overly-domesticated luperci around here. Even X’yrin, despite being an adept fighter and comfortable in any shape, seemed the most graceful when her long legs were sweeping out and her claws slashing at her opponent. It gave her more faith in Inferni and in this man that she was comrades with those slightly more similar to her, even though he could be different on several other levels. Fighting was one way to communicate, however, and while they might disagree over words, the dance of tooth and claw went far beyond that.

He asked if she had experience, and the small coywolf snorted. “I only have this many scars because I’ve survived.” It was her philosophy, anyway, even if she sounded like a bratty teenager as she stated it. To be dead and scarred was a failure; to carry the trophies of battles survived was something worth being proud over. She could brag her skills at survival if nothing else.

She noticed his dark form beginning to change and did the same. It was slightly faster than shifting up, but she did not transform as fast as the experienced luperci. Changing still felt strange, less uncomfortable than before, but it was awkward and seemed unnatural. However, she breathed a sigh of relief as she stood on all fours in her streamlined lupus form once again.

“Whichever you’d like,” she said in answer to his question, taking a few steps back and grinning. It would give her an interesting experience to fight against a powerful secui form in her small one, but even in lupus he was larger than her. She rose up on her toes and flattened her ears. “Come at me whenever you want.”

His remark about scars had her tilting her ears back, disagreeing although she said nothing on this point. Vesper knew that some couldn’t help being disfigured as a result of violence, and she agreed that the number of scars marring one form did not equal their skill level. However, Inferni had a culture that respected those who carried trophies from their battles. Even if a child had been shredded by her father’s teeth, herself too young to have any real skill, the child had still survived. The child had not died like weaker children might. And the child was watching the dark male with narrow blue eyes now, holding her opinions close but silent.

Likewise she didn’t want to make any more of his change of shape than needed to be made; she’d left the option up to him. His body shrank to lupus form and then, without another second of wasted time, lunged toward her like a quick shadow.

Had Vesper been in optime, the attack would have caught her off guard; she might have been able to half-dodge or parry the blow with a clumsily raised arm and an undignified yelp. She had been born and raised on four legs, however, had survived on four legs—and so she leaped backwards as he sped toward her.

“Everyone scars,” the tawny coywolf growled, and took advantage of his moving frame to close the distance between them. She jumped at his own shoulder but would not pause to bite even if she connected; her limbs and balance were already shifting to bring her out of harm’s way again. Dancing and using space and speed to her advantage—the way of the coyote—it was something she could triumph at even though her punches rained only weakly on the leather bag.

The Hastati’s skill impressed her little more than it should have. She expected those in the Bellum tier to excel in their abilities, and he was fast and strong. Her mind raced as she sized him up from her well-maintained distance, noting his strength, knowing her speed and balance would have to defeat his sheer mass. She was used to fighting those larger than her, however, and was unafraid.

Her muzzle lunged toward air instead of shoulder as he slipped away like smoke. His teeth brushed the thick padding of fur on the back of her neck, and she quickly took advantage of the close quarters to twist her head, lunging for his throat. At the same time, Vesper felt his jaws fasten in her scruff.

Unless he tried to adjust his grip to her vitals, however, the small coywolf was safe. The worst he could do right now was shake her; otherwise, she’d eventually slip through his jaws. All the while, she did her best to get her mouth around his throat, nip his face, squirming just enough for maneuverability but not enough for her ruff to be torn. Even in a predicament like this, the one thing she would not do was give up. Helotes had admired her for her spirit, and she wondered how much spirit would really mean to the Spaniard.

Her body was jarred, forequarters lifted away from the ground as he shook her by the scruff of her neck. Vesper snarled as he did so, still fighting hard, ignoring the feel of blood seeping from her loose skin. It was only a trivial wound, although she knew he’d be tearing at her neck harder if she was a real enemy. Her front paws scrabbled at the earth, trying to anchor herself lower, but he finally abandoned shaking her like a ragdoll as the pressure tightened on her scruff.

Vesper almost thought they’d reached their stand-off, but then his large body shifted and she found her balance compromised. It was easy enough getting back up if thrown, but there was little she could do with the big hybrid trying to knock her down to the ground. She struggled all the while, nipping and scratching, trying to take advantage of their awkward balance.

He let go eventually, leaping back, making use of space. Ears flattening, she growled at him, her chest heaving although there was satisfaction dancing in her pale blue eyes. Quickly, she bounded forward again, feinting at one shoulder before leaping around to attack one of his hind legs instead. She kept away from his powerful jaws the best she could.

Tucking the tail was one of the important defenses in battle, but Vesper could only focus on so many things at once. She wanted to scream in frustration when his jaws fastened on the plumy thing, and she focused her rage into a high-pitched snarl. She whipped around quickly, barely keeping her balance, trying to bite his face while it remained attached to her.

Ángel released her, however, and jumped back with a growl. The lithe female continued to snarl, but she only circled him at the distance, looking for any weakness. It seemed that, for this sparring match, they were more or less equals in different fields. She snorted and twitched an ear before giving in to X’yrin’s lessons: trusting her instincts, not letting the need for strategy cloud her mind.

Her body responded well, however. It remembered where she did not to keep her tail close, her ears flat, her hackles stiff and shoulders as barrier against his teeth. She moved toward his hind leg again, but she was ready to turn on a dime and bite his flank if he dodged like before.