#rytlock

Snarling in frustration, Rytlock withdraws his arm to block Zavrik's return. Grunting as his thick arm absorbs two punches aimed for his chest, he bites down a snarl as his eyes lock onto Zavrik's grinning face. He swipes an arm forward, but Zavrik has dashed backwards already and he has to clamp down on his frustration as he stumbles forward, weight shifted off balance. Movement in the corner of his eye, raise a leg to block a sweeping kick meant to make use of his fumble. A laugh escapes him in a huff when Zavrik stumbles in his recovery.

"What's... What's the matter Zav? Not getting tired are you" pushing words out between heavy breaths, circling over the dirt of the makeshift sparring pit. Across from him Zavrik did the same, the sunlight making the dark fur on Zavrik's bare form shine. The sheen highlighting the motions of Zavrik's chest, muscles moving with the deep breaths that Rytlock's opponent was taking. Was he getting tired? He better be, Rytlock hoped. Attrition was the only way he was not going to embarrass himself in front of his soldiers.

He appraised Zavrik more, his breathing was heavy, and he had definitely worked up a sweat, as evident by the way it shined, and ran down his front, over the spots that covered most of Zavrik's flanks, thinning out at Zavrik's groin. His wandering eyes caught Zavrik's leg. Just enough warning for Rytlock to tense his abs before Zavrik's knee came barreling into his gut.