The two circled each other. Charlie moved stiffly, as though the first kick had bruised or even broken his ribs. He waited for Swift to launch the next attack.

It came in a blur. The commissioner feigned a wide swipe with his wicked claws, but as Charlie ducked to avoid it, Swift kicked hard, catching his opponent solidly across the jaw. Charlie yelped in pain, and Swift cackled. He easily quickstepped around Charlie’s retaliatory bite, and came at the hound from the other side with another feigned slice and a brutal kick. This time, Charlie predicted the move, and he caught the commissioner’s ankle in his massive jaws and shook.

The commissioner hit the ground on his back, flailing with one hand and holding his bloody hat on with the other. Charlie did not release him, growling through clamped jaws as he continued dragging his opponent back and forth across the ground like a human paintbrush. He had scrubbed the moss from a six-foot swath of earth when a loud ping rang the hound’s teeth like a dinner bell, and his head shot back. Swift hopped to his feet, bits of metal and leather straps hanging loosely at odd angles around his knee. He ripped the mangled remnants of the brace from his leg and glared at the great hound.

His iron shoes dug into the freshly churned dirt and he waited, like a sprinter listening for the starting pistol. Charlie lowered himself, and his lips peeled back in a vicious growl. In a blur, Swift was behind him, and the dog’s teeth snapped at the empty air. Swift had carved a chunk out of the hound’s ear, and it bled dark ribbons through his shaggy coat. Again and again Swift darted around Charlie, piercing gashes and pounding kicks into his shaggy hide from every direction. Charlie spun and snarled and bit. He was keeping himself low, and protected from any serious wounds, but for all his ferocity, he was no match for Swift. It would only be a matter of time.

At last, the barrage of fast attacks paused. Swift taunted his opponent arrogantly, tipping his hat in mock cordiality and smiling wickedly, and then he turned his back to the hound and stepped away. “You’re good,” he said, amused.

Though panting heavily and covered in patches of deep red, Charlie held his stance, watching the commissioner’s movements.

“Monsters like us shouldn’t be brawling with one another, though, should we?” the commissioner continued, still facing away and sauntering to the center of the clearing. “We have so much more in common, after all. And a pup like you, so far from your pack—you could use a strong master. I tell you what, when I’m through with this one”—he waved a nonchalant hand in my general direction—“you’re welcome to finish off the scraps.”