"To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield."
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The arena welcomed all who stepped through its archways. Peoples of the local Dearths filled the rows here and there. The odd face not exactly belonging to either Dearth or Gallovia emerged: townspeople, passerby included. Dearth girls, Dearth boys, farmers, sheep herders and other mundanes found open seats for any and all. Local barons and lords swarmed into the trope, bringing their companions or their servants. Flags soaring on high-standing poles wrapped around the top of the roofless arena, dancing in the strong winds of the temperate Highlands.
The familiar tune of the House of Howlester blared as Rodderick Howlester, Genevieve Howlester, Rosalina Howlester, Caoimhe Howlester, Phaden Howlester and Aldwyn Howlester found their seats under cover, out of the sun's reach. Just behind them came various friends of the House Howlester and the fighter of the day. A couple of Howlester House Guards, Fenic Dak-Cervantes and Shirina Davenport took their stations beside their employers, but even they could not deny their excitement for a fight.
Hengest and Agatha Harhold entered the arena, quick to join the covered seats provided for the nobility. Maeva Peirgarten traveled alongside her courtship partner, Aldwyn, and took her place near his side. Louis Delmotte also entered and found himself in a comfortable spot among the rest of the nobles. Alderik Kade tagged along with the large traveling group and, like Maeva, neared his courtship partner's side, comfortable beside Genevieve. Christopher and Dianne Black also accompanied the rather sizable party of nobility that had sailed to Gallovia to watch the spectacle. Henrik Norrvakt had heard word of a challenge of man versus beast; he too could not resist the urge to join the noble patrons in their excursion to the festive Highland Dearth.
Even then, there lie an unwavering sense of impending dread that lingered in some of them.
Bagpipes blared in powerful unison. Dearth members stood and shouted in raw delight and anticipation; arms, hands and fists waved in the air much like the flags did in their wind-dance. All attention was pulled to one of the Dearth spokesmen who demanded it with a voice that could reach all corners of the Highlands.
The Howlesters were brought to the spotlight as the spokesman cast acknowledgement unto them; and to the fighter soon to emerge. With a wave of a hand, torches were lit around the inside of the arena pit one by one. The Dearth spokesman urged each head in the stands to gaze before the combatant: a woman facing her rite of passage and mark of strength--the testament to her coming of age.
A rattling racket cranked into high gear as one of the side gates was opened. Ylva Howlester emerged in adornments befitting of her dearth lifestyle and loyalty. Her hair was tied back and her wrists wrapped. Not a dress in sight. Instead, a sash in her dearth's colors and her house's, pants for easy movement, and sturdy boots covering her feet. A metal band wore over her right wrist, a thin bracelet that bore no significance to the distant viewing eyes.Ylva looked up to the stands with chin held high and a hardened smile upon her face. Yet some of the Howlesters could sense it, practically smell it: the unnerve clouding her, the tension in her shoulders, the faint buzz to her gaze. She offered her family a raised fist before turning to the Dearth spokesman. She gave her signal to them.
Various archers took to the immediate circumference of the ring. They loaded their bows with slender arrows but did not draw. Most set a foot upon the side to hoist themselves higher and keep their line of sight on the combatants in the pit. The opposing gate shook as it was pulled up out of the way. The spokesman's heightened voice spread across to all ears as the force awaiting on the other side lumbered into the pit grounds.
"Her opponent: The Bear of Cairnryan Coille!"
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Ylva raised her arms close to her chest. The bear heeded no formal call to begin. She held her breath far longer than intended and released it nearly too late. Her body bolted for the side in a dive as the bear charged at her. Its body barreled past her, dragging in the dirt and leaving tunnel-like dugouts from its large paws skidding to a halt. She hugged the wall and turned about so her back pressed to it.
The stands erupted into noises unintelligible altogether. Many stomped and clapped in eager anticipation as the bear pivoted itself around. Ylva felt its dark eyes locking onto her, piercing through her. With a mere twitch of one of its ears, the Bear of Cairnryan Coille pursued its opponent yet again in full force. Ylva pushed off the wall and ran further towards the center of the pit yard.
Bear versus silverwolf. Either body went for the other. Ylva's mind clouded as she came toe to toe with the bear, head on. The need to win, to survive: this was what living was for; to overcome.
Her arms grappled around the bear's neck and locked around. She tugged off to the side, hooking on as tight as she could. The bear sounded its alarm. A bellowing holler ricocheted off the pit walls into the stands. The audience members roared in return.
A wild struggle ensued in the middle of the pit. Dirt kicked up with every buck and swing of the bear. Ylva held on with every ounce of strength she could muster, locking hand to forearms, then to wrists. The Bear of Cairnryan Coille twisted and stood onto its back legs. Ylva rid one arm, hooked around the front of the bear's throat with the other. She decked the bear once on the head, twice.
Fur and slobber swung between the fighters. The overbearing musk of the bear flooded Ylva's nose, enough to make her eyes water quite profusely. It placed its paws on her shoulders but struggled to really keep hold on her, thumb-less and padding sliding from her skin.
Some of the local lords in the stands turned to each other and went on in Highlander Dialect, muttering and whispering in heated excitement. Some of them then turned to the nobility that had sailed to the Dearth to share their musings, while others merely passed them glances that were arguably in overly-enthusiastic nature.
The scrap in the pit continued. It appeared to be an episode of stalemate. Tides turned and shifted with the blink of an eye. At one instance, it appeared that the young Howlester silverwolf was gaining ground, shoving, wrestling and striking the bear across the face again and again. In another moment, the Bear of Cairnryan Coille turned the tables by throwing her down or pushing her away and smacking her with the full force of one of its padded paws.
At each rise of the fight, bagpipes and drums filled the arena stands. Ylva threw a punch for the bear's stomach after it stood on its back legs again. With both paws, the Bear of Cairnryan Coille brought her down front-first. Her legs gave out beneath her and she tumbled right onto the ground. It bat a paw to the side of her body. Wop!
She scrambled back to her feet and got right up into the bear's personal space. With a Highlander cry, she charged into its chest and put her arms to its sides. Though she could not fully lock her arms around it, her fingers curled around its dense fur and tugged. The bear peeked its head over her shoulder but could not quite turn it enough to bite or take hold of her skin. Instead, it took hold of her tied back ponytail and pulled. Ylva shrieked, reared back by the bear's grip on her.
Ylva withdrew by some steps, her long strands of hair getting pulled and torn from the bear's teeth, leaving an uneven layered mess remaining. It'd have to be cut later. She grit her teeth. She faced the bear, eye to eye for the briefest of moments. Then she drew an uppercut and hooked it to the bear's underside of its jaw.
The Bear of Cairnryan Coille's jaw clicked loud enough for the majority of the arena stand to hear. When it opened its mouth to roar at her, a piece of tooth chipped and fell free, lost to the dirt. The Howlester silverwolf made her advances and swung for the bear's maw. The head flicked to the side, but the bear was quick to turn it back and try snapping for her arm; and grazed her with a straggle tooth.
Dearth goers hoorah'd and hollered. Drunken ramblings and yells somehow managed to fall in tune with the eccentric and upbeat fighting tunes, the bagpipes and drums parading the ears of all. Ale and whiskey spilled from cups, glasses and flasks. Even food and snacks had trouble staying in the hands and laps of the audience.
Enraged, the bear rose to its hind legs and stood up tall. It hunched forward and bellowed in Ylva's face in rapid secession, a swipe of its right arm hooking for her. Ylva tried rearing back to avoid its reach, but the jagged claws were inescapable. They cut through her pants and across the skin. Not deep to sever the flesh profoundly, but the sight of blood was unavoidable.
She fell back without realizing, taking to a knee once she had retreated back a ways. The bear shuffled forward. Its breath was hot, heavy, uneven. Both fighters were worn, tired. Yet the Bear of Cairnryan Coille had enough energy left to pursue its downed opponent. Ylva greeted him with a harsh hit despite having one hand hover over her clawed thigh. The bear reared and shoved its paws upon her shoulders again, skidding her knee against the dirt.
Howlester silverwolf and Bear of Cairnryan Coille were at it again. Tired, exhausted, bleeding, beaten. Once again their stalemate rose, an even state of exhaustion between them yet equal oceans of stubbornness that would not give way yet. The bear pushed weight until its leg pressed into her cut thigh. It loomed over her and pushed, trying to shove her into the ground again. Her hands, try as they might to resist, did not have the leverage to get the upright bear off of her so easily.
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People in the audience lunged for the railing and peeked their heads over the edge to get a view to the pit down below. The amalgamation of human and beast roaring together in fury and pain punctured the ears of all. Onlookers could only watch as the hulk of ragged brown fur obscured the body beneath its massive form. The only thing to be heard was the pained howl of the silverwolf calling for help--all for naught.
She gazed all about, this way and that, to faces she could make out and not discern. The edges of her vision clouded and grew glossy. Her cries of pain cut short. A surge of adrenaline replaced the pain burning in her veins.
She drew her right arm back and thwacked the beast square in the nose. It did not let up. With as much fight as she had in her, Ylva thrust her fists again and again and again against the Bear of Cairnryan Coille's nose, snout and head. It reared its head and pealed an angered cry.
Dirt swiped up from her hand and into its eyes. The bear shuffled back in surprise, limbs swiping at its face to clear the mess. Flashes of claws danced in Ylva's sights. With every portion of fight left in her, she crunched another handful of dirt into her hand, formed a fist, and despite the burning pain in her thigh, she went running into the bear's front.
Overhead, the sun became briefly obscured by a hint of overcast. Grey skies dimmed the pit grounds. The sounds of heavy weight toppling into the pit's ground resounded up the walls. The tables reversed. Ylva flung her weight, bleeding and bruised, atop the bear and used her legs and knees to hold it down. She took her handful of dirt and smacked it to the eyes again.
The Bear of Cairnryan Coille's cries shortened and weakened, dismayed by the debris thrust into its vision. Soon to follow was the heavy-handed combinations of punches that Ylva gave. She punched and thrust what strength remained in her against the bear's head. Slobber gobbed side to side and all over her. Dirt clung to either of them just as sweat and blood did. Her hair, chopped unevenly from the bear's earlier tugging bite, practically fell loose from the ties that held it back.
The Dearth spokesman proclaimed from the stands. Bagpipes cut their songs to their ends. The flags billowed in the air. Peaks of the sun drifted through gaps in the clouds.
Ylva toppled backwards as the Bear of Cairnryan Coille pushed her off, ever struggling to rid the dirt from its eyes. Either remained in place, weary bodies releasing heavy breaths in their rest-beds in the dirt. Seconds felt like minutes. Yet the beast had been bested.
The young silverwolf had proven her worth. Her merit shone as golden as the sun, but not without its prices. Aching and injured, Ylva was aided off the pit grounds as the bear was kept at bay. Her entire right pant leg was stained a murky red from the earlier cut. Vague traces of it stained the dirt for all to see.
Another rite of passage to mark strength was had. Another silverwolf earned their place among the rest; a testament to strength and adulthood of a new figurative pack member.
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