Vaken placed his front paws both in the water, his head forward and eyes narrowed. The sour grapes were temporarily gone, replaced with a ridiculous amount of competitive drive. He wanted to win more than anything, it was consuming him. He was focused, concentrating on the task at hand. The black fur on his forehead creased down, making his face even more stern and serious than usual. He was ready.
He didn’t question for a second if what he was doing was embarrassing or not. He was barely a yearling, his second birthday approaching, months older than the pup beside him. He was too old to be acting so childishly. Regardless, he was an impulsive emotional boy with a mean streak. He was treating her like he would treat anyone else. He wanted to win, slam her dance in the mud and laugh. He was planning on it. “I hope you cry when you lose,” he hissed, keeping his eyes trained forward, waiting for her cue.