The next round of the tournament started with one on one battles. Man against man. 25 matches would take days to get through but the crowd was eating it up. Each swing of the sword sliced the echo of a roar.
The energy from the crowd was contagious. Wolves loved a good pack event and none more so than a competition. Despite all of the excitement around me, I was only really focused in on one wolf. Not my mate, though I planned to do some deliciously disturbing things to him later, no -- to the man himself, General Swift.
In school all pups learnt about Swift, about his even supernatural fighting prowess amongst the wolves. About how he singlehandedly put down the unrest in the kingdom with such surgical precision that they taught his strategies even hundreds of years later.
I felt every bit the pup eager for her first change as he approached, but I couldn't show that. This was a dance.
