Commissioned Story: Fang, Ch. 2 (Patreon)

The key to surviving any fight was footwork: a solid stance and quick movements, flowing from one position to the next.  The attacks one made after the fact were but a byproduct of effective grounding.   From stability would come strength, from mobility would teach speed, and from adaptability: accuracy.  These were the tenets of any fighter's core discipline, whether using fists or weaponry.  The strongest punch in the world would mean nothing if it came from a place of weakness and vulnerability; all that force easily diverted like water flowing around a rock and cast aside as useless.

Such were Nemea Spartos' thoughts as she observed the solitary, curious Human, a week after his first appearance, still pounding unskillfully away at the massive sandbag hanging before him.  His footwork was beyond the worst she had ever seen, his punches lacking anything save for heart.  A heart in his hands, lashing out wildly, violently, against some unseen enemy.  Any true foe would tear that heart asunder with barely a whiff of effort.  Those were not the hands of a fighter.

Even wrapped in fighting tape and clad in boxing gloves that seemed drastically oversized for his stature, she could tell.  There was a man who had likely never raised his hands to even fight off a fly, let alone whatever demons hardened such gentle eyes as those behind that mop of red hair.  He still hadn't thought to tie it back, and wasted a lot of his energy seemingly on brushing it back out of his freckled face.

His workout clothes were baggy upon his frame, his shoes meant for everyday use rather than exercise or running.  The Human paused, panting for breath, then threw out a weak, overly exaggerated combination of jabs that barely made as much of a soft thump against the heavy sandbag, let alone make it jerk much in response.  His feet shuffled back and he adopted what could only be a poor man's version of a boxing stance, feet splayed out wide and awkwardly, shoulders tucked down and fists trembling.

Over the course of the years, Nemea had seen all kinds of shades when it came to fighters.  Whether bad fighters, good fighters, deadly fighters, or fighters by necessity, one's true colors came out best when one responded rather than reacted.  Defense was crucial to the foundation of combat, no matter how one employed it.  And while that kind of defense was laughably noneffective, it did tell her more, painted her a clearer picture of maybe why he was here.  He had infinite room to grow and expand his skills if he was serious about getting stronger and learning to fight, but there too was his laughable intent.

He wanted, asked for, and allowed no help.  And it had been a week of this. A week of no progress, no change, and no answers.

A cough of static at her side finally jerked Nemea out of her silent rumination upon the matter of the Human training all by himself.  Her huge paw lowered to her waist and recovered the walky-talky hanging there.  A hiss of feedback came to her tufted, scar-notched ears as she pressed the button at the side of it.  "Spartos," she growled out, barely able to hear herself over the heavy drum of paws, panting, and growls that filled the gym around her.

"Hey boss," responded the curt, nearly monosyllabic voice of Kilboros on the other end.  "Weights are reset.  Gonna bounce unless you need me for something else."

"Acknowledged," she replied in equally curt fashion.  "Just make sure the staff room is locked when you go."

"Ten-four, boss."

Sure enough, when Nemea glanced off to the side to one of the side doors of the gym, even through the crowd she saw the leather-clad Kilboros sliding out of it.  They threw her a mock salute without even looking back at her, as if able to tell she was always casually observing everything in her domain of concrete walls and crash-mats.  It was hard to find good employees like Kilboros, one who didn't mince or waste words, or ask for extraneous time off or early clock-out days without good reason.  That being said, she was suitably surprised when they had come into her office directly that morning and asked to leave early.  Even if it had not been a slow day, she still would have agreed.

A nosier person might have tried to probe into the truth behind when Kilboros had said, ever so flat of tone, "Hey boss, need to leave early today."

"Got a hot date?" she rumbled in return, at that moment currently busy balancing paychecks with a practiced hand and not really caring as for the answer.  Income at the gym wasn't that horrible even given the low-income area they advertised in, and she still managed to keep up with proper equipment and facilities alongside her half a dozen employees.

"Yup."

That made Nemea glance up from her computer screen and toward them with slight surprise.  The Lynx-Leopard hybrid just stood there, paws tucked into the belly-level pocket of their hoodie, eyeing her flatly through those metallic-grey eyes, waiting for her response.

"You, have a date?" she queried.

They nodded, long tufted ears swaying just a bit.  "Yup."  There was the barest hint of a grin on their muzzle.  Raising an eyebrow, Nemea waited for them to elaborate but after a few seconds, she knew that was about as forthcoming as Kilboros ever would be.  Part of why they made such a good employee, she told herself for probably the third time that week.

"Well, have fun," she grunted eventually and returned to her work, her practiced calm demeanor helping to restrain an amused smirk on her muzzle.

"Will do, boss," they growled in return, chuffing once in a chuckle, and then they strode back out of the office and returned to work.

Even with her suspicions aroused all day from that encounter, Nemea knew not to pry and instead just settled in for a long day of managing her establishment like she always did.  Adapt to change like the flow of a river, so said one of her mantras.  And so she did.

Returning her gaze to the gym at large, she took a quick mental calculation of the current clientele.  They were barely at half capacity today, although from the hazy weather outside she could tell that therein lay a key factor.  Not many Anthros liked to work out extensively when a storm was approaching.  She could feel it in the tips of her thick fur, as well as the occasional creak from her bones.

Rising up from her usual slouch over the railing of her perch, she descended the stairs, walking amongst the various Breeds hard at work on machines, on mats, or lifting weights.  No one was using the sparring ring today, as there were no scheduled fights anytime soon.  A small group was practicing yoga off in the corner, headed up by another of her workers: a long-limbed Simian named Isso.  The Sabertooth Alpha watched the eight or so of them flow from stance to stance, all while the instructor gave out encouragement and gentle corrections in her motherly voice, before she turned back to continue her patrol.

Even as she helped guide, correct, or chastise members as she went about her task, mentally keeping track of the clock as each minute ticked by, her amber eyes continuously gravitated towards the front of the gym, no matter where she stood in it.  Even through the press of furry, scaly, or feathered bodies, she could always spot the outlier: that single Human who had still, unfalteringly, continued to hammer away at his target.  Even as the other clientele eventually began to trickle out as the day drew to its close, he seemed not to notice.

It seemed she was the only one who spared him the time of day to acknowledge that he was even there.  While not excluding him, every other person let him be, although that was possibly due to that he had headphones pointedly shoved into his ears as to deter conversation.   Even so, the general air of the gym typically was to follow one's own pace.  No one was here to really engage in conversation unless expressly doing so to pass the time while also working out or taking a break in-between activities.  It was a no-nonsense type of facility, which suited her just fine.

For some reason, however, it irked her to no end to see someone trying so desperately to go it alone.  Perhaps mainly just because he so obviously needed some guidance.  Shitty form aside.  She had seen that kind of desperation tempered by obsessive behavior before, although perhaps not in such a social setting: life or death in those bright, ocean-blue eyes, a desperate need to seize control.

She could take it no longer.

With most of the others in the gym finally having trailed out for the most part, as they had barely an hour left of the working day, she decided enough was enough.  As her workers restocked the weights, wiped down mats and seats, or cleaned up various spills, she stalked across the gym towards the punching bags.  The Human currently was sitting down, panting heavily on a bench that his feet barely reached the ground from, and sipping shakily from his water bottle.  A faded and scratched logo of some kind of cartoonized character was inked into the plastic, details half rubbed off from constant use or worrying.

As she drew nearer, her keen ears picked up on the notable sounds of some kind of fast-paced dance music coming from his earbuds which currently hung from a string linked underneath his sweaty shirt.  Interspersed with the notes was the heavy riffing of an electric guitar, pounding drumbeats, and a voice singing tinnily in some foreign language.  Nothing she recognized.

She came to a stop barely ten feet from him, crossing her arms as he remained hunched over, elbows on his knees and entire body arched.  His spine was tense and his long hair hung over his face, concealing it.  Even despite this, she could tell he was mouthing words, a hushed, personal conversation meant solely for himself.  Even her keen hearing couldn't pick out what he was muttering, barely above breath level.  As before, he seemed lost in some miserable little world of desperation.

Seeing no need to disturb him but not relenting after having come all this way despite a strange thrill of anxious energy, Nemea simply crossed her arms and waited to be noticed.  It wasn't hard for anyone to do so when she was around.  Alpha was not just size but also a presence; sometimes described more as an air, or perhaps displacement of it that drew the eyes and attentions of those around them like metal filings to a magnet.  Especially if said Alpha's own attention was upon them as well.

Ever so slowly, the Human stirred, soft mumblings falling away to silence as he sensed that he was being watched.  His shoulders began to tense and his fingers tightened upon the water bottle clutched between them.  Inch by inch, his head lifted from the ground, alighting upon her fluffy, solid footpaws in their open-toed workout shoes.  Immediately, he stiffened, even more, noticing right away the size of said paws.  After a short pause, she watched his eyes travel up her hardened calves, wrapped in workout gauze to her knees, and then ever higher across her trunk-like thighs that were thicker around than his waist.

Like a mountain climber scaling a rocky cliff, the Human's bright, furtive gaze continued to explore, trailing across her furtight, black, stretched-out polyester workout shorts that strained at the seams, across her waistline, and then to the fluffy white plain of her underbelly.  Even through the fur, she knew he could see the hardened, defined lines and chiseled muscles of her abdominals.  Only there, once having reached the pale fluff of her underbelly, his expression noticeably changed.  What had been nervous had suddenly become shocked, almost awed; his eyes had gone wide and white-rimmed, further distinguishing the admittedly pleasant rich blue of his irises against the stark contrast of his fiery hair.

With his hands no longer in the boxing gloves, his wrapped fingers numbly reached into his pocket, from which he extricated a chipped plastic case, which he opened with a snap and then shoved a pair of round Windsor glasses onto his freckled nose.  With his vision returned, he continued to stare, nearly open-mouthed by this point, at the looming colossus of a woman towering over him.

Nemea waited with near endless patience as his eyes traversed yet higher, moving from her white belly towards her chest, currently garbed in only a straining double-pair of sports bras, black like her shorts.  His throat bobbed hard and if he had been fixating upon her legs and abs, he all but ogled her like a starving man staring suddenly at a vast feast laid out before him.  His face underwent another transformation.   Fair, possibly Irish or Scottish complexion went from pale nervousness to blushing so hard that his freckles momentarily vanished, and rivaling even his copper tresses for tone and shade.

For a brief moment, the Sabertooth Anthro almost felt a bit embarrassed herself to have someone staring at her massive, muscular bulk like that.  She wasn't unattractive she knew, but so many now only looked at her for the grizzled Gym owner that she was, rather than the bombshell model she had been a decade ago.  Her fur was dotted through with scars, forming jagged and often unpleasant valleys in the otherwise thick, luscious carpet of her tawny and dark-brown striped fur.  And while her feminine assets were still proportionate yet shapely, the rest of her broad-shouldered figure was rather decidedly non-stereotypically female.  Yet, still, he stared.

She saw his gaze travel each pit and whorl of her marked flesh, old battle-wounds lovingly explored as if he were tracing the lines of an artist's hand upon a canvas.  While she might grimace at times of personal weakness, looking at herself as sullied or a broken piece of what once she had taken great, often vain pride in, he instead looked at the whole of her as if she were some glorious masterpiece, almost too perfect to be real.  She easily composed herself once more after a momentary fluffing up of her fur.  Such thoughts were silly to ponder.

'No need to romanticize a man staring at your tits, Nemea' she chastised herself and set her vision squarely and analytically forward upon him once again.  Maybe while he was still star-struck she did give him a quick once-over, sharp eyes scanning him up and down now that she was directly facing him for the first time.  It was only fair.

He was thin, kind of scrawny, but not unappealingly so; granted her arms were thicker around than his thighs and she suspected she could have fit three of him side by side across the width of her shoulders, and just one of her paws could most likely have easily plucked him up around the middle. His mop of flame-red hair barely came up to her naval as well. Now more than ever did she feel the full weight of being an Alpha, ten feet tall to the tips of her scarred ears. He was what one might have affectionately described as 'bite-sized'. That almost made her grin, which more than anything surprised her.

Finally his reverence was broken as his spectacled eyes latched onto the signature and singular adornment she wore, a pair of glittering dog tags that jingled atop the vast cliff face that was her feminine endowment. Recognition dawned at least it seemed and his eyes flashed up from her chest to her scarred, saber toothed muzzle and the bright, glittering amber orbs that stared down at him. Color drained again from his face and he visibly gulped, shrinking into himself for a second before giving a nervous smile. She blinked once, acknowledging his full attention being now squarely fixed upon her.

For a moment, neither said anything. Then at long last, Nemea chuffed out a snort. "You know, you'll be able to hit that bag a lot harder if you square up to it."

The Human flinched at once at the gravely rasp of her voice. He had obviously been expecting chastisement or perhaps even a threat. Then what she said seemed to sink in and it left him blinking several times behind those brightly polished glasses. He even glanced around them as if somehow, despite facing him directly with no one else remotely nearby, that she was talking to someone else.

There was a small pause as he craned his neck up to meet her eyes again and he took a deep breath as if gathering himself. "S-square up?" he queried.

Nemea folded her arms loosely over her chest, noticing that he stared just a fraction at how her muscles rippled at even such a simple gesture and then rocketing his eyes back up as she resumed speaking. "It means to face your target directly," she patiently explained. Then she lifted her paws up and adopted a light if solid stance. He jerked in surprise as if expecting a blow but relaxed a second later.

"See how my hips are facing you completely?"  He nodded, eyes fixated upon the flex of her powerful thighs again. "When you're facing your opponent, sandbag, whatever, directly like this, your stance is everything; it'll give you the balance and fluidity to adapt to whatever the fight throws at you."

He nodded, seeming a quick study.

"Now let's go over footing," Nemea continued. "How you stand means how you move, and moving is just as important as balance. See how one of my paws is facing you but the other is slightly off to the side? These let me move freely." The Human nodded and watched as she performed several basic pivots of her hips, footpaws, and legs, steps forward, back, and from side to side but always resetting to square one. She didn't throw any punches, just let him see how she moved for now. "From a solid stance and sure footing, you have the best chance of defending, receiving, dodging, and retaliating," she finished explaining.

With all of his attention upon her and carefully observing and listening, he seemed to finally relax from the tightly wound ball of tension. His shoulders straightened somewhat and he sat up a bit more on the bench. He was actually not as slender of frame as she first thought, no doubt unaided by his perpetual-seeming hunch, but he still looked adorably tiny compared to her bulk. Adorably?

"All right," she continued, disregarding her own observations and refocusing on the movements. "Now that I've covered the literal basics, let's see you do it too. Square up to me."

She half expected him to shut her down as he had her employees.   Instead, just as she had hoped but still a pleasant surprise, the Human without preamble hopped down off his seat, put his water bottle to the side, and stood facing her, squaring his hips exactly as she had said. That looked good.

"Like this, ma'am?" he asked.

Nemea snorted hard, fluffy jowls rippling at the motion. The tips of her long upper fangs showed a bit more as she quirked up the corner of her mouth at one side in a teasing if relaxed grin. She quickly dropped it when he eyed those long savage blades of bone a bit more warily, stance weakening once again. "Ma'am?" she nonetheless teased. "What am I, your supervisor? Your commanding officer maybe?"

He flushed more. "I...well I mean...No." He took a deep breath, appearing to be counting to a number to calm himself, and then fixed her once again with his full attention. "No, Ma'am. I just meant it as...uhhh..."

"It's a joke, relax Humie." She rolled her amber eyes and settled her stance back into the relaxed but direct position, mirroring the stance from earlier so he could follow her. "Hold yourself a little looser," she guided him. "Stand too stiff like that and you won't be able to react properly."

He moved to do as she bid but again he needed correction.

"Nope, now you're too loose. Tighten the muscles at your core, keep your shoulders straight but slightly tucked in, and focus all of your attention on what direction your pelvis is facing." She lowered a paw and planted it squarely facing forward from her waist. "Imagine there's an arrow, and that arrow directs every movement you're going to make.  Trust the arrow."

Underneath her careful but not overly harsh direction, the Human quickly adopted the perfect stance. She nodded firmly, maintaining distance between them for now as he moved from relaxed to ready position several times. Only once she was sure he knew that step to 100% perfection did she move on.

"Ok so," she growled. "Now, you're squared off. Let's see how you dance."

The Human's mouth hung open for several seconds, jaw working loosely as if hanging on rusty hinges, trying to find a way to respond before he shook his head and finally relaxed, if only by a hair. "Sorry...uhh...did you say 'dance'?" His expression was apprehensive, to say the least, all his previously found elation at following her orders rapidly dissipating.

"Dance, move, step, shuffle, whatever you wanna call it," she chuffed, almost chuckling at his nervousness. She rolled forwards a step, following each motion with her entire body without dropping her guard. Before he could respond, she rolled back the way she had come, never once taking her eyes off of him. "Now you," she ordered.

The Human stared at her for a moment, completely nonplussed, then shrugged and again followed her directions. He shuffled a step forwards as she had done but even as he did so, she shook her head, causing him to pause again.

"Your anchor foot shouldn't leave the ground," she corrected him. "Not unless you want your opponent to spot an opening and knock you off balance.  Your anchor is your most vital defense."

"Anchor foot?" he inquired.

Reaching back, she patted her rear-facing leg. "This leg is going to be your entire transfer of power," she counseled him. "Find which of your two legs is dominant, and use the other one strictly to guide and lock you into position. You should never be stiff when you're doing this; front leg takes the step, back leg executes it." Again she performed frontwards, backward, and side to side shuffles, overly exaggerating the motions as she went. "See how I never drop the square?" she asked, to which he nodded intently. "But also my legs are always tensed up but ready to move at a moment's notice.   Anthros call it 'the Stalk'."

"The Stalk..." he breathed, sounding as if in reverence of the term. He began to step as she had, keeping his body directly facing her but his footsteps remaining coordinated and balancing. "Am I doing it right?" he asked after several flowing iterations.

"Best level 0 rookie I've had in years," she chuffed, trying her unskilled smile again. This time he didn't quail at it. "Congratulations, you can officially look your opponent in the eye and wow them with your two-step. Pretty soon, you'll even be able to do this." In an instant, she dropped back into the face-off, but now swiveling her hips from side to side, shuffling from stance to stance and switching up which leg became the anchor. She cut a quick, tight ring around him, footpaws nearly a blur, never once dropping eye contact with him as he spun in place to keep her in sight. She completed the small circle and relaxed again.

Her tiny protégé let out a shaky breath as she did so, looking as if he wanted to applaud her before he thought better on it and instead just nodded. "I...see your point on why stance and footing are so important. I could barely keep track of you just for moving."

"Now imagine you have to keep that up in a fight," Nemea chuckled. "It may look easy but it isn't. Still, the only way worth doing something is doing it right."

He nodded and flashed a warm, grateful smile up at her. It really was a nice smile, not at all befitting how dark and dismal his face had been before she came up to him. "I can't help but wholeheartedly agree. Thank you, this has been really informative."

"That's me, informative and informed," she grunted simply, trying to dismiss the tiny thrill that fluttered inside her toned stomach at the stark contrast of his smile compared to earlier.  That was certainly a new feeling. "Course, all the fancy footwork in the world won't help you in a real fight without the proper intent and follow-through with actual punching."  She stepped to the side and gestured at the punching bag he had been abusing over the last week.  "Let's see if you can handle those now."

The Human blanched for a second then, steeling himself, stepped up to striking distance of the bag.

Again, she stopped him.  "Aren't you going to put on your gloves?"

"Won't have them in a real fight," he countered, actually managing a small grin up at her.

Dutifully impressed, Nemea nodded.  "Good attitude.  Realistic," she praised and took her place as spotter behind the sandbag, holding it for him as he readied his stance.  "Hit it straight on but not with all your weight.  I don't wanna see you break your wrist."

The Human nodded firmly and sank into the stance as she had taught him.  "Square up," she heard him mutter to himself.  "Stance solid, footing loose but strong."  He had it down pat, almost at least.  And then he punched.  A weak-armed blow struck the sandbag, so flimsy that she didn't even feel it through her thick pawpads.

"Did you forget everything I taught you just now?" she barked, glaring down at him as he shuffled back a step.  He jerked as if he had been the one struck but before he could flinch or retort, she shook her head.  "Try again, and this time, let me see each movement like you're in a slow-motion movie."

He followed her orders, looking disheartened but not discouraged.  Once again he squared up to the bag, shuffled his feet into a solid stance, and then drew back his shoulder to strike.

"Freeze," she commanded.  He did so, halfway through not even the first movement.  She came out from behind the bag and stalked around him, looming over him as her fierce eyes scanned him up and down once again.  She paused just behind him, unable to not admire the rather nice swell of his calves above his ankle-high white socks.  "Do I have your permission to touch you?" she asked.

The Human glanced back at her, his ears turning as red as his hair for a moment before he nodded assent.

Kneeling down, Nemea placed one huge paw on his shoulder and opposing hip apiece.  He jumped and quivered at her touch, each fist easily enveloping wherever she touched and rough, leathery pawpads conforming to his skin, which was warm and surprisingly soft.  She wasted no time in observing how rather nice the sensations were and instead, using barely any of her strength, swiveled his hips wider and his shoulders following the same motion.

She leaned in then, barely brushing his back with her fur.  Her hot breath ghosted right past his ear, causing him to stiffen completely underneath her grasp.  "Relax," she growled softly and he did so if struggling to.  "Now...imagine your shoulders are connected to your hips by strings."  She bent and moved him again, having his body flow if jerkily underneath her direct guidance.  "When your right shoulder goes back, your left hip should shift forwards in response.  Don't move your feet; remember your stance has to remain grounded and strong."  She swiveled his shoulders and hips from side to side, letting him feel the pull and flex of his own abdominal muscles.  "Got that?"

He nodded extremely shakily and she finally released him, standing back up to her commanding height and again circling around to face him directly.  She began to follow the same motions as he had, not throwing a punch but instead just swiveling her shoulders and hips back and forth.  His eyes seem hypnotized by the sway of her upper and lower body, and she realized a minute later that the view was probably extremely pleasing for him on that matter alone.

For some reason, she didn't mind that.  However, she wasn't here to perform a strip tease or sexy dance for him.

"That's it," she growled down at him as they moved in tandem, now adding in footsteps and shufflings from side to side as they kept swaying their bodies.  "Your body knows how it wants to move; we are hard-wired for fight or flight.  And I'm not here to teach you how to fly.  There's a fighter inside of you and I'm gonna draw him out."

His face flushed and his eyes bored holes up into hers.  "You...really think that?" he asked softly, to which she nodded once.  "I was...starting to think this was all useless."

"Intent is never useless," she told him.  "It's only how far we are willing to go, and hard we want to work to follow through that determines if we succeed or fail."  Eventually, their swaying dance came to a halt again and she nodded down at him.  "Visualize your goal," she told him, then turned to face the bag.  "Square up to it; no backing down, no surrender, no retreat."  Her shoulders sank into a combat stance, her hips directly facing her target.  Her paws lifted into fists, eyes drawing a bead on exactly where she intended to hit.  A low growling surge of Aggression built from her and she lunged forwards, body following through the motion completely.

Like a rocket, her wrapped fist struck the sandbag head-on with the full, considerable force her hulking body possessed.  The resulting smack of impact echoed around the interior of the gym, drawing many eyes, followed by the heavy piece of equipment jumping back as if struck by an oncoming train.  The reverberations from the strike traveled through her thick knuckles and down her muscular arms in the most satisfying of ways.  Dust billowed out of the edges of her victim and the chain holding the bag to the hook above rattled mightily as it flew back and forth for several seconds. Eventually, it slowed and came to a rest as she caught it with a single slap, arresting its movement completely.

Nemea turned back to face her newest trainee, seeing his brilliant blue eyes as wide as saucers behind his glasses as he stared up at her in absolute awe.  She swelled slightly beneath that gaze, unsure entirely as to why but, for the first time in years, feeling a touch sexy again, even if it was just for punching a sandbag.  She quickly dismissed such thoughts as she patted the poor, abused piece of equipment.

"Satisfied where that kind of dedication can take you?" she growled down at his handsome, freckled face.  He nodded wordlessly.  "Good, then we can officially get to work.  Square up, Humie."

He did as ordered and at once, with such eagerness that she actually felt a rush of dominant pleasure to have someone so happy and willing to obey.  That was a nice feeling, she had to admit.  He did exactly as she had, facing his target squarely.  As if tied together by a string, his shoulders and hips swiveled in place and his fist drew back just as hers had.  Forwards it flew like a bullet, striking the heavily taped mid-section of the bag as she held it again in place for him.

This time she actually felt it and she growled immediately in satisfaction as he stepped back and looked to her for approval.  "That's more like it," she snarled, baring her teeth more openly at him.  Just as she settled back to have him continue throwing punches, however, the clock on the wall began to ring and she was startled out of her fixated attention upon as everyone else in the gym began to file out.  "Good progress today," she instructed him, letting out a deep sigh and with it channeling out the rest of her Aggression.

To her surprise, the Human looked very disappointed but he nodded and began undoing the wrappings on his knuckles.  "Thank you," he said then, grinning sheepishly.  "I...really don't have any idea what I'm doing."  He began to pack up his stuff into his nearby duffle bag, hanging his gloves back up on the wall hook nearby as well.

"Trust me, I can tell," she chuckled.  "But come by tomorrow and I'll show you more.  Only gonna ask one thing from you for it too."

"What would that be?"

"A name, so I don't have to keep calling you Humie," she snarled softly.

Rather than look taken aback or wary, he immediately smiled up at her, extending a hand now freed from its wrappings.  "That's fair."  Her huge paw enveloped his in a traditional Human greeting.  His entire body trembled once before her as she did.  "Sam.  Sam Raife."

She held onto his hand for several seconds, appreciating the gentleness of his unmarred knuckles against the scarred pads of her paw before she let go.  "Nice to meet you, Sam Raife," she growled.  "Nemea Spartos."

"Oh, believe me, ma'am," he chuckled up at her.  "I know who you are."

"That so?" she teased, surprising herself at how easy it was with the tiny figure.  "Glad to make an impression then."  She crossed her arms over her chest then.  "I'll see you tomorrow, Sam Raife, and that is an order," she growled out in a mock-stern snarl.

He beamed again as he had before, threw a smart, if only slightly incorrect salute, and shouldered his bag before heading out of the gym doors, the last to leave save for her.  He looked back at her only once, lifting a hand to wave.  She nodded in return, watching him until he stepped out of sight before she sighed heavily.

One bridge crossed, she thought.

*End of Part 2*