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Taraxa had been waiting for that challenging voice from the moment he and Zsaria had last parted. He hadn't been expecting her to come so soon, and he was wholly unprepared -- Ulrika was under his care today. His sons and other daughter were off doing what cubs did, but Ulrika was his youngest and oftentimes found herself needing to be around papa.

Gently nosing the white-maned cub, Taraxa gestured for her to follow him as he moved towards the mouth of the den with a loud, proud roar. "Zsaria!" A pleased expression was on his face -- she was, after all, a good friend. He'd deemed her as such after their last long conversation had turned to more serious topics like cubs. "You come for a challenge, and I am insulted that you would suggest I am not ready for such a thing!"

Ulrika followed her papa out of the den, her mismatched eyes wide and watching the goings on. She'd seen her father duel before, but never with a female. She had to grin at Taraxa's happy tone of voice, though. If there was one thing that Ulrika loved more than anything in the world, it was seeing her father happy.

Ulrika had to admire the way Zsaria moved; all smooth grace and flawless agility. Papa had told her that if she wanted to be a Reaver, she would have to train in order to become the best. She was encouraged to throw down with her brothers and oftentimes did, losing more often than not. She didn't let it get her down -- her papa was proud of her regardless. "Get her, papa!" Ulrika giggled loudly, being sure to move clear of flailing claws and flashing teeth.

While Taraxa was braced for Zsaria to make the first move, he wasn't ready for her quickness -- or her claws. They both caught him by surprise. Usually when he sparred with Gunnar, they played nice -- claws sheathed and without teeth. Her claws scoring his shoulder pleased him. Zsaria was not afraid to cause him damage, and Taraxa would not hold back, either.

Spinning around, he fondly grumbled, "Not today," before he lashed out with a paw, aiming to strike at her hindquarters with unsheathed claws.

She was a true Reaver, and that thought pleased him on a purely primal, instinctual level. If his daughter hadn't been sitting right there, he'd likely have started whispering bawdy words to her, words about how much he loved the sight of her blood staining her coat, how much the scent of her pleased him. The coppery scent of blood had a way of fueling his more.. physical urges, and it would be hard for him to keep silent.

But his daughter was there, and so those words would remain unsaid. For now.

She was smaller than he was, and so while her attack from above didn't knock him off balance completely, he was taken utterly unawares by her sly use of the environment around them. He growled fiercely, teeth bared, using her downwards momentum to assist him in knocking her from his back. He let a large paw fly towards her face, fully intending on striking her on the muzzle.

Ulrika watched carefully. Zsaria had looked like a pretty bird flying through the sky to land on top of her papa, and Ulrika was quite impressed. She had to gasp, though, when she saw the flash of Taraxa's teeth. That wasn't generally a safe sign -- used only when her brothers needed discipline or harsh words to get them back in line. She shrank back, eyes wide as she watched her father fight to disengage the lioness that had latched onto his neck.

One thing that Taraxa had learned throughout all of his years of fighting battles against lions both stronger and weaker than himself was that you never clenched your teeth when you fought. Doing so could shatter a jaw, break off a tooth. It was a dangerous thing. He opted to fight with a relaxed jaw and tried to keep wary of his tongue at all times. Taraxa had bitten through it plenty of times and the pain was intense.

Of course, when fighting with a riled up wildcat like he was doing today, Taraxa forgot to remember to keep his tongue tucked back, to fight with his jaw relaxed. He ceased to pay attention to important things like being aware of what his opponent was doing at all times. Taraxa didn't fight well against females -- he had a soft spot for the warrior-types of females that the pride seemed to attract, and so even harmless spars like this could get Taraxa in a bit of trouble.

Zsaria's tumble to her back brought with it a fleeting moment of raw passion to Taraxa. Seeing her below him, his minds eye was taken to a rather lecherous place where he saw all sorts of passionate acts being carried out. And then he saw stars.

When her feet connected with his chin, the force of the movement snapped his head back. Those razor sharp teeth of his used the upwards momentum to take his tongue along for a ride. He'd not been paying attention to what was going on, and he would pay the price for it. Sharp teeth sliced easily through his tongue, shearing off an uncomfortably large bit of it. He'd still be able to talk properly -- the wound was merely a reminder that he needed to start paying attention.

Glancing at Zsaria, he spit a mouthful of blood (and a bit of tongue) to the side. His vision was blurry, his brain rightly scrambled, and now he was bleeding from the mouth. This hadn't turned out how he had expected it to. With an angry roar Taraxa went for her neck, teeth bared and hungry for blood that wasn't his own.

Ulrika was uncomfortable watching such a savage fight, but she knew her father would be disappointed if she left. The sight of blood unnerved her and she was uneasy when her father spat out a mouthful of the stuff. She gave a startled cry when he roared and dove for Zsaria, backing up a bit to make herself as small as possible. Was this supposed to be fun? She couldn't help but wonder. Ulrika would never desire to fight like this.

Now that was a familiar pain. Zilly had head-cracked him recently and when Zsaria did it, he released her neck. He was able to stand for a moments time and then he kind of crumpled. It appeared as if he didn't have the capacity to hold himself up any longer. Taraxa still felt twinges of pain from Zilly's previous head-smashing so when Zsaria did it, he saw stars again.

Lots of stars.

He also saw the terrified look on his daughters face, and tried to force a laugh from his throat. The sound came out rusty and ...well, forced. His brain was rattled, and Taraxa knew when he was beat. There was no use in taking this spar farther, not when he knew that his brain would be mush by the time the fight was over.

Women and their head-cracking.

"I yield," he rasped, fur tainted crimson by the blood that sluggishly oozed from his tongue. He gave her a cocky grin, also forced, and bowed his head before moving towards Ulrika.

Ulrika whimpered softly, peering at her papa with those mismatched eyes. "Are you okay, papa?" she whispered, lifting a little paw to rest against his. Of course he was okay. He had to be. Papas weren't meant to be beaten so easily. Zsaria must've used some type of magic like the Priestesses did, or maybe she even cheated.

If looks could kill, Zsaria would be dead by Ulrika's eye-daggers.

"Hush," he whispered over his shoulder, eyes warm on the lioness that had rightfully beaten him in their spar. A genuine smile blossomed over his features as he turned back to his little daughter.

"There is a lesson to be learned here, love." His voice was low and tender as he continued, "Even though you are female and even though you might be looked at as not as strong as a male," he bent down to peer into Ulrika's eyes, "you are as strong as you believe you are. Zsaria is a good example. You should look up to her, and do not be angry because of what has happened here. Do not be afraid, Ulrika." Taraxa grinned over his shoulder at Zsaria, his eyes pleading with her -- don't cry, don't cry. "Be proud that one as strong as Zsaria is here for you to look up to. Even if you do not desire to be a fighter, you must be the best at whatever path you choose to take in life. Thank her for showing you that yes, even females can be as strong as your papa."

Ulrika smiled at her father's soothing words, and despite the fact that it didn't completely reach her eyes, the anger had drained from them -- for the most part. She still didn't like seeing her papa in such a way, and only that displeased her. She did look at Zsaria with a different expression on her face. Yes, it was pride. Ulrika dipped her head in thanks towards Zsaria. "Thank you, Reaver Zsaria."

Taraxa laughed painfully. He was still in good humor although being beaten. He could take a beating -- there would be another day for them to spar, and he would win the next time. Lifting a paw he ruffled his daughter's hair tenderly before shooting Zsaria another glance.

"Thank you for the fight, Sister Reaver," he said with the utmost of respect. He didn't want his daughter to feel anger towards Zsaria. The lioness had done nothing wrong, nothing at all. Her laugh brought a pained grin to his muzzle and his eyes flashed with molten fire at her suggestive comment.

"I intend on beating you," he said, "but I promise you that you'll enjoy it."

Grinning, he ushered his daughter towards the mouth of the den. He'd set her inside and then take to cleaning up the mess that they'd made. There was a lot of blood strewn about, and it seemed to bother Ulrika. "Say goodbye to Zsaria, love."

Ulrika gave her papa a small pat before turning to dip in a bow towards Zsaria. "Goodbye, Sister Reaver," she mimicked, turning to rush inside after blurting out the words. "Thank you," was called over her shoulder as she bumbled inside.