ooc:
A rotten trick, calling out the name of her companion for no reason other than to win their little game. Among the Nomad, surely she wouldn’t have fallen for this poor excuse of an attack, for there would have been nothing of emotional attachment for a contender to use against her. It was a difference she had grown more aware of day by day as it slowly began to develop into a weakness. But it was her own fault for making it so. Though she knew the male was capable to caring for himself and holding his own, she still worried about him and the thoughts of harm overtaking him was too vile a concept to entertain even if to make herself immune to the emotions it created.
“That was dirty!” Having been knocked back by the force of the kick, the woman was rendered useless on the ground now cradling her smarting muzzle. The numbing quality of the adrenaline had ebbed away in a matter of minutes, holding her down on the soft grass and the weight of her injuries (though minor) set in. Blindly, she kicked out in retaliation, hoping to catch her friend in his side. “What wolf fights in a manner that would call for trickery?” Grumbling, she eventually rounded up to sit cross legged on the ground, still holding her muzzle with both hands. “No wonder no one wanted to fight with you,” her words were muffled by her enclosing grip, but were none the less audible to recount a time of their childhood. But like him, she missed their little game…injury and all included. It was a much better course then threading down idle conversation when nostalgia was just as easily achieved by a means they both enjoyed.
Now, if only he could play fair… An underhanded tactic just to make himself the victor.