origin ver. section2
The wolf was losing.
To a hare.
Coin was exchanging hands at an alarming rate. The wolf had taken a nasty blow to the side of the head from the hare’s war hammer, sending him flying into one of the wooden posts adorning the edge of the ring. The post cracked, buckled, then sprang back into place, throwing the wolf onto the dirt floor of the arena, his snout slamming hard into the ground.
In his periphery, the wolf could see handfuls of coins, silver and gold, crossing palms. All eyes were upon him — a lot of powerful wolves stood to lose a lot of money if he didn’t get up. A lot of hares were hoping he stayed down.
“Had enough?” His opponent, donned in spotless gold plate, twirled the war hammer in his paws. He could see the wolf laboriously reaching out to grasp his blade. “Okay, well, if you want to continue—”
The shrill whistle of the wolf’s blade cut the hare’s offer short. Giving no impression of surprise, the tall, limber hare pivoted in the loose dirt of the arena, slamming the business end of his weapon directly into the wolf’s chest.