There was glory to be found in a well-matched fight, one that pitted you against someone not quite on your level but just above it.

It made it interesting, made it a challenge.

Alabastaire Cantrip liked a challenge.

In the mountainous and snowy neck of the woods that the gryphon lived in there was a disconnect between the villages that kept most minding their own business. It was as if the cold weather made for cold temperaments, not that he blamed anyone for keeping their nose down, better than getting it bitten off for waving it too deeply in another's space. But there would always be things that drew souls together despite such a surly atmosphere; the merriment of festivals, trade, politics and of course, a good fight.

Sometimes those things weren't mutually exclusive, but that only made the stakes higher.

Dodging beneath the sweep of his opponent’s talons, Cantrip made sure to press his wings firm to his sides to avoid them becoming a bigger target than they already were, the gilt-rimmed tips of his neck feathers brushing snow that was well on its way being churned to icy muck. Just as quick as he was to dodge, the pale wyvern was determined in his barrage of attacks.

Massive wings spread wide, flapping to give the stranger a bit of lift as he raised his hind legs and lashed out with a twin kick. It connected with Cantrip's chest, causing an indignant caw to escape his opening jaws. The metallic snare of his mouth looked more forged than formed by nature, though organic it was, his bite was just as bad as his bark.

In the second that the hinds pressed to his torso, he snapped down on the wyvern's ankle, bringing him along as he tumbled back through the snow and trampled twigs.

As they fell into a writhing, snarling pike, a few onlookers had stopped to gawk at the show going on just outside the village borders. Most were local that had he time for a second glance, Cantrip would have known well, mildly interested but more impatient for the chaos to end so they could go about their day. A few others were like him, drifters and passers through who probably thought they were watching locals in the middle of a squabble. It was a shame that he was muddling up the village's reputation, but there were only so many ways to react to finding the dragon who'd stolen your kill then had the gall to sell it off.

“Yield.” Cantrip's voice was muffled by a mouthful of snow white scales as he fought to twist the ankle in his jaws around, half dragging the thief in a circle while a stray kick from the wyvern's free leg clipped his cheek.

That was enough of that.

Tightening his grasp and earning a snarl of pain for it, Cantrip finally flared his dual set of wings and began to flap them, jerking his opponent forward every other beat to keep his balance off until he could begin to lift into the air. Slowly but surely, he and the wyvern began to rise from the churned circle of ice and mud. Up higher until they crested the top of a snow dusted pine tree, giving Cantrip a good view of the small crowd watching.

It was hard to keep his hold on the wyvern, but he wouldn't need to for much longer. Using his second pair of wings in conjunction with the dominant pair, the gryphon flapped a few unsteady spirals in the air to gain momentum before releasing his spitting and hissing cargo.

The stranger tried and failed to right himself, nearly managing it but only too late as he landed in a snowbank with a massive spray of snow in all directions.

Cantrip remained aloft for a moment, silver eyes narrowed as he watched and waited for any sign of further dispute…