Like most of his packmates Cyril was keeping close to the pack borders. Mostly because he had two little ones to watch over—from a distance. He had not spent too much time with the children since they entered the world of the living. The sullen yearling didn’t really know how to act around them, or what he was supposed to do. He knew how to protect them, from afar, and bring their mothers food. But he hadn’t grown up with siblings, or any wolves his own age. Only briefly, when Adeltra had found her way to the north, but that hadn’t lasted long. He’d been forced to grow up quickly after the death of his father.

The call caused his brows to pinch together and his path to change. He wasn’t really interested in making friends but he was curious as to why the young wolf was making such a ruckus. A frown creased his dark features as he loped toward the edge of the tarn, his tail arched high over his back. He’d been meaning to seek out the yearling who held the rank above him sooner; perhaps this was the perfect opportunity to see whether the boy was worthy of the position.

He approached confidently, his chin tilted upward as he padded toward the silver-dusted male. He stopped, a few tail-lengths away, but did not release his dominance stance.

He remained where he was, his expression calm despite his narrowed brows. The sullen yearling did not know much about the other yearling, but he wasn’t interested in exchanging friendly banter. He had not intended for the challenge to take place—not yet—but when the call had rung out over the tarn it had seemed like an open invitation. Only it wasn’t the casual conversation that the silver-eyed youth had been looking for.

Amusement threatened to break his stoic features as Daesamar responded by flicking his own tail up over his back. It did not bother Cyril that the other yearling was slightly larger. Size did not equal strength, or dominance. Just because he could stand taller than Cyril did not mean that he deserved the rank of second. The Kael-Santoro took a bold step forward, his chin tipping toward the sky as his upper lip curled, initiating a challenge. It appeared as though the silver-dusted youth wasn’t going to back down as easily as Cyril had believed, but that didn’t bother him. If the boy wanted a proper challenge he would get one—Cyril wasn’t above sparring to assert his dominance.

The ebony youth lunged forward in hopes of barreling the larger male over, his shoulder aiming for Daesamar’s in an attempt to knock him to the ground. If the boy would not lower his posture Cyril would do it for him.  

He had been too wrapped up in the challenge to notice the familiar ivory shape that had appeared. The yearling had met his mark, and caused the larger male to stumble backward, but he had not succeeded in knocking him over. Cyril was no experienced fighter—he was going based off of instinct while using hunting strategies. There had been no one, aside from his parents, to scuffle with back at the monadnock. He’d been too busy exploring the nearby territories and keeping to himself. This was not been something he had prepared for, but he’d be damned if he backed down now.

His upper lip curled into a silent snarl as he watched the yearling square him up. Cyril’s tail remained arched high over his back with his ears pinned forward; every fibre of his body dripped with dominance. He held his ground as Daesamar rushed forward, his jaws reaching for the Kael-Santaro’s scruff. He twisted his head back, but not fast enough. He could feel the larger male’s jowls grab onto his scruff but as Daesamar forced him to the ground Cyril pushed back against the older yearling in an attempt to knock him off balance once more. As he pushed against the larger male’s weight, Cyril craned his neck around and tried to grab at Daesamar’s cheek, a low growl humming in the back of his throat.

The ebony Kael-Santoro did not release his grip on the larger yearling until a submissive whine escaped through his lips and his jaws released the back of Cyril’s scruff. Once he felt Daesamar pull away from the back of his neck Cyril remained where he was for a moment, to ensure that the yearling did not try to trick him, before pulling away. His chin instinctively raised as the silver-dusted male bowed his head; his tail arching high over his back to show his newly obtained rank. He knew that it would be short-lived, as any adults that joined their pack would take the rank from him due to age, but that didn’t matter. He had won his first rank challenge, and as long as he remained in Clearwater he knew it wouldn’t be his last.

He held his position as the large yearling tucked his tail between his legs. His chest heaved as he tried to regulate his breathing, his yellow gaze fixated on Daesamar to ensure that his submissive stance did not waver. Only when he was satisfied with the male’s response did Cyril lessen his posture (although he still kept his tail curled over his back). Good fight, he hummed in response as he studied the yearling before his golden gaze flickered over to his silent mother. What did she think of the challenge? Was she proud of him? Did she think it had been a mistake?