Reos World Fair: The Bout

Silvery moonlight bathed the Competition Grounds of the Reos World Fair, aided by dozens of gently drifting lanterns. The sky was clear, other than a few wispy clouds, and glittering with stars. Fireflies danced in the warm summer air, hovering over the grass and setting the dense woodland of Warrenfall aglow. 

It was the perfect night for some friendly competition.

Two Vayron hurtled around a dense copse of birch trees and crested the hill overlooking the Competition Grounds, breathless with laughter and the exhilaration of their run.

One was a massive crimson-coated puller, his pelt marked with darker stripes on his neck and flanks. Bright white fur ran in a blaze down his face and chest, and sheathed all four feathered legs. 

The other was a small but sturdy chaser with mottled fur the color of the desert itself, all browns and tans, with a shaggy mane of the same. His ears were button-shaped, flopped over, and his tail was naught but a nub. 

The chaser, Buck, almost vibrated with excitement as he looked down at the Grounds below them. Various arenas were delineated by wooden stakes strung with rope, all festooned with bright strips of fabric.

In one, set at a distance from the others, two shapes were thrown into stark relief by a violent clash of dancing flames and arcing lightning. Another seemed to be a racetrack of some sort, judging by the group of chasers and runners that thundered by, paws throwing up sprays of sand. 

Something blocked the moonlight for a split second, and the pair looked skyward to see Tyrians in hot pursuit of each other, dodging through strategically placed rings of glowing lanterns.

The two Vayron laughed at the sheer joy of it, starting down the hill towards the arenas. One particular activity had caught Buck’s eye, and he shouldered Red in that direction, earning a bemused grunt from the much larger male.

Sparring! As they approached the prior two combatants were trailing out of the ring, sand-covered and rumpled but chuckling. A new Vayron stepped forwards onto the sand, this one another puller, though not as large as Red. His short coat was shades of brown, with blotches running down his spine, but his long reptilian tail faded to a vibrant blue.

Feet planted square, he called out in a deep, rumbling voice to the gathered Vayron, “My name is Astarot. Who will challenge me?”

Red started when Buck nudged him in the ribs, responding with a huff, but stepped forwards into the arena regardless. “My name is Red. I will challenge you.”

The brown puller regarded Red in silence for a moment, gaze solemn, before inclining his head in a slow nod. “I accept your challenge.”

The two pullers approached one another until they stood at the rough center of the arena. For a moment everything was quiet, the air heavy with anticipation.

Then, Astarot lunged forward, angling his heavy neck and body to catch the other male in the side. Red lept away, spun on his hindquarters, and slammed Astarot in the shoulder with his broad chest, knocking him clean off his feet. From the sidelines there was a celebratory whoop; Buck. 

Red stepped back as the brown puller stood, shaking sand from his coat. Astarot snorted, eyes agleam with a new degree of respect. His long, slender tail whipped once, then, beckoned. 

How could he refuse? Red charged, massive paws digging furrows in the ground. He gained speed, about to collide with the other puller; but Astarot dropped just before impact, powerful neck and shoulders going right between Red’s forelegs. With a twist he hooked his head under Red’s gut, heaved him to the side, and slammed him into the ground. 

Red’s breath left his lungs as he ploughed through the sand. After a few moments of strained wheezing he rolled upright and staggered to his feet, with Astarot there to brace him. Buck was there, too, standing on his hind legs and dusting off Red’s coat with his forepaws. 

“Nice match,” the brown puller rumbled, stepping away once Red could stand on his own. “If you ever find yourself in Roenden, we should go again.” With that he walked off, melting into the crowd. 

“What an odd fellow!” Buck murmured with a chuckle, dropping to all fours beside the crimson Puller. Red nodded in agreement before giving himself a vigorous shake, sending sand flying in all directions and startling an indignant squawk from Buck.

“Hey!” The chaser groaned. “Unless you want to go for another round, you had best keep your dirt to yourself!” 

Red blanched, turning to walk a bit stiffly out of the arena. “No, thank you. I’m fine. I’m sure Astarot would take you up on that, though.” 

Then it was Buck’s turn to wince, trotting to keep up with the puller. “I’d rather not take flying lessons tonight. If either of you wants to have a race, though, I’ll leave you eating my dust!” 

They both laughed, dusty and rumpled, but headed back towards the bright lights of the Fair.