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Werewolf Fight — Description

A commission from: who wanted me to draw his werewolf characters fighting.
He also wanted me to include an exert from his story in case there are fellow werewolf lovers out there :

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“Uh,” they both said in unison. Reilly glanced at Samson and for the first time today, he looked right back at her. She could see his face was as red as hers felt.
    Hatchet just snarled. “Oh you pups! If you're really so concerned about modesty, turn around.”
    Reilly spun and began to strip. Behind her, she could hear the shuffle of Samson shedding his exercise shorts, then his bones quietly popping as his legs transferred from plantigrade to digitigrade. Reilly neatly folded her shirt, unbuckled her belt and pulled her shorts off before she, too, joined him in the fur and did a few stretches. “Okay,” she said, and turned around. Reilly's fur was just as ginger as her hair, an uncommon-enough trait that she was more than a little proud of, but for the first time ever, she felt self-conscious about herself. Samson had transformed into more of a mountain than a werewolf the color of coffee, with his human hair's braid stemming out from somewhere in his mane. She tried very hard not to spare a glance at his genitals, but even werewolves had that peculiar streak of self-defiance in human nature. What she saw made her bite her lip. It was at that point she noticed he was looking in every direction but hers.
    “Okay, let's get this over with,” he sighed.
    Reilly spared a glance at the stack of tumbler mats, but if Hatchett wasn't going to suggest them, then she wouldn't either. She wasn't going to blow it in front of a living legend.
    “Whenever you two are ready.” Hatchet stepped back, still with his arms behind his back.
    Samson's eyes suddenly snapped her way, green eyes filled with concentration. Reilly gave him a respectful bow before assuming her favorite stance.
    Samson closed the distance between them with a single step and surged his fist forward. Reilly grabbed it, spun around, and tried to elbow him in the gut. He had anticipated that, though, and caught her arm and tried to entrap her into a chokehold. Reilly wrapped her leg around his, pushed her butt back, and levered him over herself, throwing him onto the floor. Samson rolled on the floor and tried to sweep-kick Reilly down, a maneuver she barely managed to leap over.
    “Reilly, keep your left guard up!” Hatchet snapped, then muttered, “Just like Vadik.”
    Reilly snapped a nod. Her nostrils flared, her ears flattened. Yes! This was what she wanted, this was the challenge she had wanted-
    Samson lunged for her again, and Reilly spun, practically dancing in a move she had embedded into her muscle memory, getting behind him, using her momentum to propel her fist into the small of his back...
    Samson screamed and went down. His legs flopped uselessly underneath him, and Reilly went wide-eyed in horror at what she had done. No! This was supposed to be training, she was supposed to hold back...
    “I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry!” She drew back as if she was poisonous. Maybe she was. It seemed like she could never stop hurting Samson.

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Commission Information

This picture on tumblr. Please reblog from my page. Don't repost.