All her life had lead to this moment. The buck who had created her, inspired the monster within her and fed the anger until she had been forced to leave her family. They had chosen him, this buck, a coward, to be more important and remain in their lives and for that they would all pay. She would make sure of that, even if on this day she died. She had no regrets except that she hadn't been able to tear out his throat sooner.

She watched as he circled, the same as she. Every movement was mirrored between them. She went left; he went right. An ear twitched, a lip curled, and like an echo the other would do the same. It was psychological now but soon it would turn physical and she had every desire, every expectation that she would win. After all, all her life had been leading this moment. The moment where she would kill the wolf that others called, "Father."

If he had it his way, and now he never would, this—he had no desire to fight his daughter. Even with all her rage and her hatred towards him, she was his daughter and he wanted nothing to do with this war that had simmered and then erupted between them. He could not regret returning to find that he had children, that he had Keepsake, that he had found Lightning Strike. The both of them, whether she wanted to admit it or not, had a family and the outcome of this was going to break their hearts. It was not either of them that would win; it was all of them that would lose. And he mourned already, whether it be the death of his daughter in defense, or his own death that left his mates and children without a father once again.

And yet there was no where to run, no where to turn to now. The rage of his daughter was too intense and it would only extinguish over his dead body or with her own. He wondered if there was a way this could have been prevented. He wondered if there was a way, still, to reach her in the inferno of violence. He wondered over every detail of his life and hers. At what point did it come to this? He could only hope that reality would be unlike desire and that real injury, real blood might dissuade her. It was the only way he could be predator and not prey. He could not lie down now. He could not willingly leave his family, not even Ashborn. He had no choice but to fight.

Time ebbed as they continued to circle each other and it was obvious that it would Ashborn to make the first move. It was destiny or fate, the anger would force her forward and she was not going to waste her first chance to draw blood.

She would take him by surprise, she determined, as he continued to following her movements. It was a snap change of momentum where she rounded and came at his face. Teeth bared and snapped down on the edge of his neck. And it startled her. The feel of fur and flesh of her father in her mouth that she unclenched her jaw and pulled back. It had always been a dream and a desire and now that it was real, the thrill and another feeling, alarm perhaps roared in her ears.

As much as she knew this was the right thing, the right way, to end the torment, she also knew that this was someone her mother loved. The sadness, however, had long passed and she felt her face contort into a scowl. Yes, her mother loved him, more than she had ever loved her. And any alarm began to melt away because she could never purposely hurt her mother. She still loved her but she could hurt Heritage. She could kill him. And her life would be all the better for it.

Heritage yelped as teeth came into contact with his throat and it was only hesitation that saved it from being more fatal. It hurt like hell and the indentations burned but it was, all in all, rather tame and gentle compared to what it could have been. Even his yelp was more out of surprise than true pain. And even though he knew he had to attack, he could not bring himself to do it. For all he saw when he looked at his daughter was Keepsake's sad eyes pleading with him to bring her home. He feared he could not and would she ever forgive him if that was the case? She would try for her heart was too kind but it would damage them. And Ashborn might be pleased if it came to that but she would be too dead to enjoy it. And they would be lost in grief, mourning for the rest of their lives.

Why did he have to look like that? He must have been thinking of her mother for no one thought of her. The way his eyes gleamed as though ripe with unshed tears, the way his mouth twitched as if to howl, the way he seemed to cower instead of attacking her. She felt her confidence waver. This was not how it was in her dreams. In them he at least fought back and she did not know what to do if he simply allowed her to beat him down. Was he hoping she would come out the villain even if she was the victor?

She scoffed; she was already the villain if her family's action to accept him and condemn her was anything to go by. And it was. That decision had determined everything and it was due to that that one of them would have to die. They could not live together, they could not live at all while the other did, too. At least, she could not. She needed him dead to reclaim life. For with him alive, all she knew was rage and unrest. Loneliness had usurped every happy memory of her family and then resentment had begun to bleed over to them as well. She could not stay in this rage for another moment if she could end it. And only his blood would do that. Or her death.

It felt wrong to attack after she had done nothing since her first bite but he couldn't simply wait for her to end his life. Even Keepsake had to see that, eventually, he thought. It would not make things any easier should he live but he had to try to survive.

He sucked in a breath as covertly as possible and then struck out, dashing forward and rearing to slam his hooves down on her back. The hope was to make her second guess herself, to decide that this was not the way that things had to be. If he could get her to reconsider, then perhaps they could eventually find a peaceful resolution to this evil that had taken root and corrupted them all into sadness or into anger.

The doe whimpered as hooves smashed into her back. If she had not been born with back spikes, she might well have fallen. As it was she only stumbled, locking her knees to keep upright. All the doubt eroded in a second. He had attacked her and, while she still considered him a coward, he was not going to die willingly or easily. It was all for the better. An easy kill would have rendered her annoyed and irritated for the rest of her days. If he fought, as he should, then it mattered not if he died. It mattered even less if she did. It was a true battle and someone would fall. One of them would win all that lay in the balance. Family.

She couldn't go for the throat again, not so soon, and with him tucking his chin downward to protect such a vital body part. She wasn't so desperate as to copy his move either. No, she preferred to use her head. With a snarl, she threw herself forward and bashed her head straight into his side. It made her eyes flutter when she opened them but it had been a direct hit and he would hurt.

Heritage felt his body fly without his consent as he was knocked sideways and stumbled only just keeping his body upright. He felt a spike of irritation. He'd been allowing her to push him around and it seemed to only incite her anger further. He would have to fight back more and he rounded quickly and threw himself at the doe with all his might.

Ashborn collided harshly with the ground. She felt the impact jolt each of her bones and for a moment the breath in her lungs was lost. It took too long for the air to be sucked back down her throat and into her lungs so that she could breathe. And she worried that he would have attacked again before she could even reorient herself but she needn't have worried for he seemed to be having his own troubles.

It was found in an instant but it was weak, as she lashed out and kicked with her back hooves. It put her in a precarious situation too, for she was far more vulnerable than he was.

If her kick had landed a touch lower it would have been nothing but it managed to hit right where his ankle sat and he had to lift his back right leg up to ease the discomfort. It was beginning to feel ridiculous now; they were both hurt but he couldn't give up. He waited as she gathered herself and then rammed her, catching her shoulder and knocking her backward into a set of briar thorns that neither had noticed before.

Ashborn yelped as his hard head and then the sharp thorn pierced her flesh. That had not been—she forced a breath out through slightly parted lips and glowered at the buck. That was not how this was supposed to go. And she was worn, she hadn't expected the fight would ever last this long. He seemed like such pushover that she would have thought she'd only have needed to hit him once or twice. Was it possible she was wrong about this buck? Was he more than a coward? Was there something in there to be admired?

Heritage winced; he hadn't even seen the thorns prior and now he regretted his actions even more. He never wanted to cause any of his loved ones pain and even less so for Ashborn who already hated him so. He could see she was tiring but he did not dare hope that she would give up. It wasn't in her nature; she might have gotten that from him.

No, she couldn't start rethinking this battle now. It was already begun. It would end with blood. With a shout, she charged forward and lowered her head until it hit smoothly against his chest. If she could not push him into a thorn bush, let him at least struggle to breathe for the pin pricks stung fiercely and she wanted nothing more than to pull them free from her flank. That, however, would take time and she would not take it here.

They were both tiring and she feared it was her more than him. She was bleeding and he was merely marked and bruised. She only needed to outlast him. She could, she would do this.

He wanted to speak but the word continued to come to a choke in his throat. He wanted to plead but the defense was too badly needed to pause for longer than a moment to catch his breath. He stumbled and returned the favor, throwing his body into her legs and watching as she tumbled to the ground.

It felt like the end as she smashed into the ground once more. If the first time had hurt, this time was agony. She felt every ache in every part of her body protest and she stayed down. Was this how she was going to go out? A body laid out on the ground, worn from exhaustion and finished by a fall? She hoped not but as the battle continued, she felt weaker and weaker. It was a disaster in so many ways and nothing like she'd dreamed. She'd always envisioned him on the defensive, running scared. And yet here he was, holding his own and pushing her to be more careful and defensive in her attacks. Heritage was winning and that had never truly occurred to her as a possibility.