Ithiel is by me!

The dark-furred coy-jackal, smaller than Ithiel by far, slunk forward, pressing the attack with her long wooden staff. She tapped at Ithiel; he blocked and threw her stick aside, but she was quick on the upswing and struck a blow against his arm. The pain of it made the dark-furred hybrid stagger back and snarl, though he did no more than this. Instead, he stepped forward against her, just as quickly. The silver-white tip of his tail flicked back and forth in excitement, and he struck for her legs, sweeping the stick low to knock her off balance.

Sepirah blocked his blow and aimed to swing downward with the other end of her staff. Ithiel jerked out of the way, moving with his stick, and reached out to snatch her staff away from her. The dark-furred hybrid tried to pull it back, but his grip was stronger, and he yanked it away, throwing it to the side and stepping up close to her, his staff pressed against her throat. The slim coy-jackal grinned and licked her lips, bowing her head to him.

Your fight, she said, glancing toward the stick. I am disarmed. The sultry tones of her accent tickled Ithiel's ears, and he stepped away from her, bending to pick up the stick. The dusky-furred hybrid tossed it back to her, and she caught it deftly. Sepirah did not crouch back into a fighter's stance, however, but pulled the staff parallel to her body and leaned on it, gazing toward her cousin with unearthly gold eyes.

Again? the dark-furred hybrid asked, frowning. Sepirah shook her head, frowning.

I'm bruised and thoroughly beaten, she confessed. Enough for today. She stood, leaning on her staff, and surveyed the D'Neville's gardens around them. They'd chosen an area in the backyard, well away from any interfering buildings or other structures, and some of the grass around them was trampled downward, but otherwise they'd not made too much of a mess.

Alright, Ithiel said, though he was certainly ready to keep going. The staff was not one of his better weapons; he strongly preferred his bow and arrow and even the sword he now carried. Sepirah, too, needed to learn the weapon; this sparring was not simply for his own benefit. Sepirah seemed to see his disappointment, though the Duplicarius had remained stone-faced.

Put up one of those practice things you use for the arrows, and strike at that, she suggested, her slim, red-patched jackal's muzzle splitting into a grin. Or shall I go and fetch Rémy for you, darling? Ithiel scowled at the name and withdrew, one tooth showing in distaste for the name. Some of his cousins might dabble with one another, but Ithiel de le Poer was not in the business of such.

Ithiel is by me!

Sepirah shrugged and stepped back, smiling still. Or not, she murmured, holding up one hand in a gesture of peacefulness. Her smile was amused; Sepirah was not easily intimidated by Ithiel, and she'd learned quickly how best to deal with him. Ithiel himself was not long in snarling; his countenance had returned to its usual stone-faced neutral. He considered Rémy Lebeau, the skilled coy-dog who had been within Inferni longer than Ithiel and Sepirah both. The dusky-furred hybrid was preparing to agree with Sepirah's proposal when noises from the inside of the house caught his attention. He swiveled his head and watched Emmanuelle emerge from the mansion, wildcats in tow.

Ithiel de le Poer, he said, introducing himself with a step forward. She asked for Sepirah's staff, and Ithiel's red gaze flickered to his cousin, curious. He remembered this blonde-haired woman from the attacks on the clan: he and Myrika had helped bring her to safety. It was not, as she'd said, a formal introduction: the blonde-haired coyote had been half-conscious and in pain, and so meeting Ithiel clearly hadn't been her highest priorty. For her part, Sepirah nodded and smiled, trotting the staff over toward the newcomer. She held it out with a slim arm and glanced back to Ithiel, using her opposite hand to rub at her shoulder in an exaggerrated fashion.,

Please do, the hybrid said, her voice thick with the accent of her mother tongue. Don't look to him for any mercy, though, she added, shivering and grinning toward Ithiel. He remained still, giving no reaction to her jest, but Sepi laughed quietly all the same. The dark-hued jackal settled down to the porch so she might watch, glancing with big golden eyes toward Emmanuelle.