Child's Play

Like they had so many other times, Greylander and Smoketrail were sparring. It was childish play-fighting, no more or less. Their horns were growing longer and sharper, and like any young styracosaurus, they were eager to test them out against each other during one of their multiple play-dates.

The juvenile bulls bucked, reared, kicked, and ran into each other, knowing full well that this was all light-hearted fun.

Pisces and Odysseyr watched on, Pisces laying nearby with her front feet resting in front of her and Odysseyr slowly wandering around the perimeter of the clearing. He pretended to not be watching his offspring as they sparred, and in fact was mostly keeping an eye and ear out for any sort of trouble, but could not help but to glance towards Greylander and Smoketrail from time to time to judge their progress.

The young bulls were starting to develop familiar blue streaks on their face - tear stripes trailing down from their eyes, and a stripe down the center of their muzzle - which marked them as his offspring, and as brothers to one another. They were getting bigger, and stronger, and quietly he was pleased with their development. He just wished that Smoketrail had a little more spine. The lighter grey calf never pushed hard enough, and he was sure that it was due to Pisces’s influence. As much as he loved the gentle-natured cow, she encouraged softness in their son.

That was the whole reason that he had taken Greylander from Theresa. She, too, was too kind, more scattered than Pisces, and he was not going to let her gullible, naïve nature rub off on Greylander. One of his sons, at least, would grow to be strong.

“Ow!”

The sound of protest, followed by a thump as one of the calves landed in the dirt, caught both adult’s attention.

Greylander was on his side on the ground with his eyes squinted shut, rubbing at his face with a clawed foot while Smoketrail looked on anxiously. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to - “

“Let me see,” Pisces soothed. The scent of blood in the air was worrying, but it was not much. Likely just a small scratch, as was wont to happen when bulls started sparring. She started to get to her feet, but settled back down when Odysseyr got to the pair of calves first.

Greylander lowered his foot when Odysseyr approached, revealing a small cut near his eye. “You’ll be fine,” Odysseyr snorted after brief inspection.

“Oddy… “ Pisces started.

Odysseyr shook his head and snorted again. “It’s just a scratch. It’ll build character.”

But Greylander could have done better. Maybe he had taken Greylander with him too late for him to be a successful, independent bull when he got to be older. Maybe he just needed a little guidance.

“Stand up,” Odysseyr directed, his voice a short, rough bark that gave no room for argument.

Greylander got to his feet, one eye still half-squinted shut as he looked towards his sire. Smoketrail looked a bit anxious, quiet while he waited for whatever lesson Odysseyr had planned for them this time.

“You let your brother get the better of you,” Odysseyr rumbled. “He unbalanced you, which is how you got hurt, and why you ended up on the ground instead of him. Widen your stance.”

Both Greylander and Smoketrail did as directed. It was a bit awkward, but they did seem to be more stable.

Odysseyr grunted, the closest sound to approval that he tended to get. “Your best bet in a fight is to unbalance your opponent and to throw them aside. Smoketrail is taller than you and more narrow, so it should be easier to knock him down.”

“We were just playing- “ Greylander protested, but was silenced by a hard look from Odysseyr. He huffed under his breath instead. The cut near his eye stung, but he knew that Smoketrail had not meant to hurt him. They were not really fighting, but it seemed like that was what Odysseyr had in mind for them now.

It also stung a bit the way that their sire had said that Smoketrail should have been the easier one to knock over between the two of them. Greylander stood a little taller. Did Odysseyr think him weak?

“Don’t stretch your neck out so much,” Odysseyr snorted. Greylander deflated a bit.

“Fighting against other styracosaurus, you must be a mountain: unmovable. If you start to give ground, you will fall. Face one another.”

Smoketrail and Greylander shared an uncertain look, but did as their sire directed. As they looked at one another, faint blue streaks on their faces and growing horns, both young bulls came to the conclusion that this felt different than just playing now.

“Go.” A moment of silence as the calves shifted their feet uncertainly. Smoketrail flinched when Odysseyr spoke again, with more force behind his voice. “Go.”

They pushed in, locking their nose horns together as they had when they were play-fighting. Odysseyr continued to speak as they awkwardly pushed against each other, their nose horns locked together.

“Turning your head might give you an advantage. You might unbalance your opponent and begin to push their trunk to the side and they could lose their footing. When that happens, do what you can to win. Hook your horn under their leg, flip them. Cut their legs and stomachs.”

“Oddy, I think this is a bit much for them, they’re just playing,” Pisces spoke up. Her voice was as soft as always, but with a note of discomfort. She did not like to think about the idea of her calf being gutted.

“They have to learn at some point,” Odysseyr countered gruffly. He wanted to give them the best chance they had at being successful when they inevitably moved on. He turned back to Greylander and Smoketrail, still only lightly pushing against each other. Neither calf had given an inch of ground, at least, but it was more likely because they were not trying very hard to fight one another than they were equally matched.

“Push,” Odysseyr demanded. It sparked the pair of young bulls to try a little harder. Odysseyr gave a small snort of approval. “Smoketrail’s crest is more narrow and could afford you an easy target of his shoulder if you could get past his nose horn.”

“Greylander is smaller than you, Smoketrail,” he rumbled. “If you’re strong enough that you can push his head back, you can knock him on his haunches and come out on top.”

Sparked by the idea of winning, of maybe gaining their sire's approval, Smoketrail pushed a little harder. Greylander, determined to not lose again, grunted and pushed back just as hard.

“Don’t give him ground,” Odysseyr growled. Neither was sure who their sire was talking to - but it spurred both of them on to fight harder.

Greylander could feel his head tilting back, exactly as Odysseyr had said would happen with Smoketrail’s slightly greater height. He snorted, nostrils flaring and the quills along his back flexing with the effort he was putting into staying upright. They were too evenly matched for him to push Smoketrail back if they were just going to keep butting heads like this. With as hard as Smoketrail was pushing forwards, though… he had another idea.

Greylander jerked his head to the side, horn hooked around Smoketrail’s, and yanked his brother towards him. Smoketrail honked in surprise as he stumbled forwards and scrambled to catch himself. The moment his front feet left the ground he was destabilised - Greylander shoved forwards as hard as he could, as Odysseyr had directed. Smoketrail’s head twisted as he lost his footing, his front half falling to the ground when he could not catch himself. Greylander kept pushing, hearing Odysseyr’s approving grunt as he pushed Smoketrail across the dirt. It was a risky move - the momentum could have given Smoketrail the upper hand, if he had been able to keep his footing - but it had paid off in Greylander's favour. This time.

“Keep going,” Odysseyr demanded. “If this was a real fight, your opponent would keep fighting until they couldn’t.” Smoketrail would figure out how to fight back, or he would get hurt.

“Odysseyr that’s enough!” Pisces protested. She started to get to her feet, but wobbled and landed heavily back on the ground.

Greylander broke away from Smoketrail in an instant, and the lighter grey male rolled onto his side with a fearful look on his face. He was not afraid of Greylander - they both knew that this was just sparring - but he was afraid for his mother’s health.

As was Odysseyr. The older bull trotted towards Pisces, his tail raised in the only expression of alarm that the two of them had ever seen. He knelt beside Pisces, nudging her gently with the side of his beak and murmuring to her in a voice that was too low for either Smoketrail or Greylander to hear. The old female’s breathing was a little too fast, a little too ragged. “They’re so young Odysseyr,” she rasped quietly. “Don’t make them fight. They’re so young.”

Greylander helped Smoketrail back to his feet, and his brother walked towards Pisces, unusually quiet. Both flinched back when Odysseyr turned his head and a low warning rumbled in his throat. After an uncertain moment, Smoketrail continued forwards and curled up beside his mother. Their sire was not going to keep him from his mother’s side.

Greylander exhaled a tense breath and turned. He would patrol around the clearing, like Odysseyr had been doing while they sparred. It gave him something to do while they tended to Pisces. Even though she was not his mother, she had always been kind to him when he and Odysseyr visited. He hoped… that she would be alright.