The pair were a painting against the landscape. The tall, horned statue of muscle, and the smaller, elegant warrior who waited. The audience watched with baited breath to see how it was the two men that claimed the greatest titles in their clans would fight.
Neither of them moved for Boranran had yet to go feral and Ares did not wish to move until he had done so, he wanted to face the buffalo at his zenith to see just how big the different between the pair was.
In an instant that had changed, as Boranran had shifted into his feral form, his horns had grown slightly longer, and his hooves were out for blood. Ares had managed to duck in time, bringing out his forearm ahead of his face to catch the hoof, which imprinted upon his skin like a tattoo. The searing pain flooding through his arm as Ares looked up to the stoic face of Boranran, which had grown red from the feral form.
