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Description
Fox x Einin breeding proof.

Autumn, Year 758 of the New Age
Windborne, Westhaven
Crack!

Fox’s single tine smashed against the other stag’s rack and was caught on a fortuitous fork, preventing him from slicing down into his opponent’s face. With a growl, Fox reeled back, untangling himself only to charge again, his muscles rolling beneath his roan hide like cords of metal.

The two stags continued to part and collide until sweat soaked through their pelts. Occasionally, Fox would call upon the wind to try to press his advantage, but he used it sparingly, as this was more of a physical contest. While magic was a powerful tool to wield, knowing how to fight without it was equally as important... and a little more visually dramatic. Does were thrilled by muscular stags fighting tooth and hoof against each other, all to win their affection. A quick win through magical prowess less so.

Finally, the two stags parted – panting and sore – and grinned at one another. “A good spar.” Fox announced, squaring himself up and bowing his head towards his partner. “You’ll win yourself plenty of does this year, mate.”

His sparring partner, a young bay stag just entering his prime, glowed beneath the praise. “Just so long as I don’t have to compete against you.” Rotta responded, only half-joking. The bay stag glanced around shyly to see whether any available does had seen his spar; to his great pleasure, more than a few had paused in their grazing to watch. “Do you have any girls in mind this year, Fox?” he asked, making eyes at a lovely cream doe some yards off.

Fox gave a hearty laugh, butting his shoulder into Rotta’s in a good-natured, brotherly gesture. “Nothing set in stone.” He declared with a sideways grin, glancing towards the cream-colored doe Rotta had been eyeing, and making a mental note not to get into any fights for her – for Rotta’s sake. The strong boy would probably win a fair harem this year, but that didn’t mean Fox had to make it any harder on him.

With a shrug, Fox hummed as he looked over the herd. Something blue flitted through the sky and alighted delicately on the rump of a slender red doe. Fox recognized the bird as a swallow, and allowed himself to gaze appreciatively at the bird’s excellent choice in perches: the doe was short, but built with willowy grace. Her pelt was a rich red, and her mane was worn long – just how Fox liked it. Mohawks were unbecoming on does, he’d always thought!

“Maybe her, if she’d have me.” He intoned to Rotta with a faint smile.

Description
Fox x Einin breeding proof.

Autumn, Year 758 of the New Age
Windborne, Westhaven
Crack!

Fox’s single tine smashed against the other stag’s rack and was caught on a fortuitous fork, preventing him from slicing down into his opponent’s face. With a growl, Fox reeled back, untangling himself only to charge again, his muscles rolling beneath his roan hide like cords of metal.

The two stags continued to part and collide until sweat soaked through their pelts. Occasionally, Fox would call upon the wind to try to press his advantage, but he used it sparingly, as this was more of a physical contest. While magic was a powerful tool to wield, knowing how to fight without it was equally as important... and a little more visually dramatic. Does were thrilled by muscular stags fighting tooth and hoof against each other, all to win their affection. A quick win through magical prowess less so.

Finally, the two stags parted – panting and sore – and grinned at one another. “A good spar.” Fox announced, squaring himself up and bowing his head towards his partner. “You’ll win yourself plenty of does this year, mate.”

His sparring partner, a young bay stag just entering his prime, glowed beneath the praise. “Just so long as I don’t have to compete against you.” Rotta responded, only half-joking. The bay stag glanced around shyly to see whether any available does had seen his spar; to his great pleasure, more than a few had paused in their grazing to watch. “Do you have any girls in mind this year, Fox?” he asked, making eyes at a lovely cream doe some yards off.

Fox gave a hearty laugh, butting his shoulder into Rotta’s in a good-natured, brotherly gesture. “Nothing set in stone.” He declared with a sideways grin, glancing towards the cream-colored doe Rotta had been eyeing, and making a mental note not to get into any fights for her – for Rotta’s sake. The strong boy would probably win a fair harem this year, but that didn’t mean Fox had to make it any harder on him.

With a shrug, Fox hummed as he looked over the herd. Something blue flitted through the sky and alighted delicately on the rump of a slender red doe. Fox recognized the bird as a swallow, and allowed himself to gaze appreciatively at the bird’s excellent choice in perches: the doe was short, but built with willowy grace. Her pelt was a rich red, and her mane was worn long – just how Fox liked it. Mohawks were unbecoming on does, he’d always thought!

“Maybe her, if she’d have me.” He intoned to Rotta with a faint smile.