The yearling was rather surprised when his instructor agreed to his proposal, which he had after all posted mostly in jest. As the bonier man leaned in, Orren stumbled slightly, taking half a step back before regaining his balance and pushing against the other. He wasn't about to back down now, especially when this was likely his best chance to gain an advantage over the more experienced wolf. But Kjors still continued to advance, head snaking up along the larger boy's neck with bared teeth, searching for grip.

Orren grumbled, jerking his head upwards to bring it out of the shorter man's reach, but not quickly enough to avoid some of his ruff getting caught between the snapping jaws. Another, more forceful growl rumbled in the Baranski's chest, dark lips pulling back from gritted teeth as he started to pull away from his opponent. Then he pushed off against the ground, lifting himself up on his hind-legs, such forcing the smaller male to either stand up himself or let go. With all his strength and weight behind the blow, he then slammed his forelegs down against Kjors' shoulder, again trying to knock him down. He was still trying to prove himself, determined to get in, at least one hit on his own, showing both his instructor, and himself, that he wasn't completely incompetent; I can do this!

Finally something seemed to be working! As the yearling drew upwards, his attacker released the hold, freeing the boy to raise further, before coming down hard. He felt his paws connecting with yielding flesh, and a triumphant smile lit up his face as he continued downwards. Fueled by this success, the brute snapped out at his opponent, trying to clamp on to him the same way he had just moments earlier. But luck, for surely that was all his limited hit had been, did not last long, and the dragon was once again faster than his student. Orren's teeth snapped around thin air, for about the millionth time it seemed, and his head veered, eyes widening in surprise as the rest of Kjors disappeared underneath him as well.

The boy released an astonished noise as he stumbled backwards, smile morphing into a panicked grimace as he fought to regain his footing before tumbling to the ground. His tail got in the way, tripping him up further, and one of his front paws slipped in the wet grass, landing him in a half slumped position, legs awkwardly stretched in unnatural angles. He gritted his teeth, wincing slightly before slowly pulling in his legs one at a time, eyes pointedly turned at the ground. Ears burning, the Baranski bit his lip, deciding to nurse his pride later and give in to the fact that, clearly, he was no master fighter; He said he'd teach me after all... So the slain lad thrust out his chin, lifting his head to look at the bistre male, persimmon eyes reluctantly meeting the single, golden one opposite. Orren mustered a sheepish smile, and then a breathy laugh as his sore ego began to deflate, and he realized the ridiculousness of the situation. With a crooked grin, he nodded once in direction of his instructor, waving his tail conceding; "Alright, what am' doing wrong?"

I few pulled muscles might come back to haunt him tomorrow, but for now the young lad was not bothered by his mishap; Physically anyway. He rolled his shoulders, trying to shake it off, and Kjors seemed to take the hint, addressing the question as if nothing had happened. Orren listened carefully, brow slightly furrowed as he considered the dragon's words. At first it seemed mocking; Of course you're not ME! Then, as the slender man continued to explain, his student began to feel embarrassed. Though he had thought of their difference in stature, knowing that it could offer him an advantage if he just managed to get past the hurdle of his lack of speed, he'd never thought of the possibility of letting his opponent come to him. Ever the hunter, Orren had thought of catching as his only option, attempting to corner his prey, all the while wanting to evade his attacks if at all possible.

But Kjors was suggesting the opposite, reminding his young opponent that he was no raging bull with flailing hooves and deadly antlers; Though he's not entirely harmless! The boy silently winced at his increasingly sore body, feeling like there was not on spot left the had not been hit at least once. But he was not ready to give up, even if it meant taking another blow head on. He was left with no more time to think, let alone answer, before the bistre man was suddenly charging again. Orren's first impulse was to pull back, trying to dodge the much faster wolf. But he suppressed it, instead steeling himself as Kjors made contact, pale paws digging into the dirt to keep his balance as the other rammed into him. Quick as lightning, the older male grabbed into an exposed front leg, tugging hard. Following his advice, Orren allowed Kjors to pull him forwards, full weight such lurching towards the smaller man. Meanwhile, the boy looked frantically for an opening, baring his teeth as he pushed back into the mottled fur. With his head lowered to tug at Orren's leg, Kjors' most vulnerable areas were protected, but the bigger lad also so an advantage, as he leaned over his opponents bended neck. With a jolt, the Baranski prince snapped out, reaching down to grab hold of the dark male's exposed scruff and wrestle him to the ground.

He was bigger, both taller and more heavy set than his opponent. This was supposed to be his advantage! But brawn wasn't all in a fight, and for Orren it was a fact that his muscles had yet to gain the true, hardy strength that came from long use; And the accuracy that came with experience. So his attempt to grab his opponent failed, and he was left with a mouth full of hair as Kjors pushed onwards, forcing him off balance. The bulky yearling staggered back half a step, trying to keep on his feet long enough to stage a second attack, but it was no use, he had missed his chance. With a routine that could only come from years of wrestling with larger opponents, the dragon forced Orren to the ground, pinning him there just long enough to prove that he was the victor. The coppery boy thumped his head into the dust, releasing a groan by way of acceptance; He was defeated.

It hadn't been a total lose though, the teenager realized, even through the haze of bruised pride. Kjors had given him a good lesson, both explaining and demonstrating several things that he could use in any future scuffles, and he had done so in a very clever way. Orren raised his head again, looking at the one eyed male with respect in his persimmon eyes, tail drumming rhythmically against the ground behind him. A grin slowly spread on his face, excitement glowing on his face at the praise. "Ya' really think so?" He asked while lowering his head to the ground once more, rolling over in the dust before getting back to his feet, shaking himself thoroughly, sending sand flying in all directions. Then he turned his attention back on the bistre wolf; "Only one. When can we do this again?!" He was ready to go again at that very moment, all he need was a drink of water and… A stab of pain shot up the boy's thigh when he moved to take a step and stretched out the muscle, a small twitch pulling at the corner of his mouth; Okay, maybe I need a few days… But then he would love to spar with the dragon again.