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_ Part 3 _

We broke. Everything that needed to be said, had been. Fifteen of us went our own ways, jogging into our starting positions. The five waiting in reserve joined Coach and Tomas on the bench, Damian included.

Our referee for the day, a fresh-faced skunk standing a little on the small side, gave a short, sharp blast of his whistle from the centre spot, beckoning both captains to join him and the weasel and lynx serving as his two linesmen.

I could hear them running through the usual pre-game talk as I passed. No tackles above the shoulders. No spiking, to mean no scooping an opponent and throwing them to the turf. And of course, follow the referee's command at all times.

Taking my last strides into position on the right of the forward row, ten paces from the halfway line, I tugged at my jersey, more in the hope of loosening myself.

"Call it in the air." The ref flipped his coin, pointing to Konrad.

"Heads."

He caught it on one paw. Slapped it to the back of his other. Revealed it as, "Tails."

The Scarlets' captain, a well-built coyote, stepped forward unprompted to grab the ball from the turf. "We'll start."

In turn, Konrad spoke up to say, "We'll keep this end for the first half."

The wind was picking up enough to rustle all the trees around the pitchside. It had me shuddering; a sensation I was getting more and more accustomed to that day. I glanced back over my shoulder, finding Lukas in his spot on the second row, positioned halfway between me and Jozka beside me.

"Come on, M." He pumped a fist. "All in today."

I pumped back, then again, doing everything I could to bring the energy it generated surging back into me. All in. That's how it had to be.

Back ahead, I watched our opponents take formation, going through their own personal routines. Stretches, jumps, or just a moment for quiet reflection. Dead ahead, stomping over to line up at left-side tackle, that huge badger of theirs shook his neck loose. He looked even larger up close... Like he'd grown an extra head's height from when I first saw him pass a half hour before. Still, he might have been big, but I was bigger. No doubts. No second guessing. This was gonna be my day. I had Sam here, and I had Lukas and the rest of my team behind me, counting on me to get the better of this guy. This was a battle I was gonna win. I wanted this too much to fail. I clubbed my chest like my life depended on it. "Come on!"

Heat raced from where I'd connected, bursting into a flame that spread and burned all through me. I bounced on my heels, eyes fixed on that badger rolling his shoulders back and forth, putting the sheer width of his chest and midsection on display. It didn't take him long to find me, nor to lock his eyes to mine.

No backing down. I kept my focus firm, not even daring to blink. Pacing side to side, bending down to stretch out my calves, to get myself loose, all I had in my sights was my opponent.

"Here we go!" barked Konrad, running back to take his position at half-back alongside our four centres. The wolf slipped in his mouthguard, clapping hard, following with one last, muffled command. "A hundred percent from the off, guys!"

The Scarlets' half-back, a brown-speckled ram, took position at the sideline, prepping to make the first centre punt that would open the game in front of the loudening crowd.

We'd reached the final seconds before the start. The final moments to keep hold of all this fire inside, and to forget all about any fizzing deep down in my stomach. I planted my feet, lowered my shoulder, and readied to charge. I must've competed in at least a hundred opening rushes over the years. What was one more?

Whistle to his lips, our referee waited, waited... then blasted a shrill peep to get us underway.

The heavy thump of leather on leather pierced the air. A solid kick from their half-back sent the ball racing. Rising. Arcing through the air. Towards the churned turf in the middle of the field.

What peace remained ended with a rumble. Both sides charged through the mud towards no man's land. Watching, waiting for the ball to descend.

Great kick. Damn it. Its line carried perfect from a Scarlets point of view, dropping a matter of paces in front of their bull playing at centre-tackle. The focal point of their forward line.

He leapt up damn high for a guy his size, bending his arms and taking the ball clean. Thumping back to down, he had time enough to drop a shoulder and set himself firm, ready for the impact of our own centre.

The buck smashed him hard, drawing the biggest crash yet. Large as that bull was, Jozka forced him to stagger, slide, retreat a good five paces back. Scrambling, he eyed a pass back to his second row, but with the sixth step, the bull dropped.

Another crash. Denser. Jozka thudded down atop him, pinning him to the mud. I bent my run, rushing to offer support. Not fast enough to make it there before one of the Scarlets' second rowsmen.

The black wolf joined the pile, throwing his lesser weight forward in the hopes of shifting the buck away and shielding the ball for their team. Not to be outdone, Sandor sprinted past from the second row. The raccoon wasted no time in entering the fray, fighting for possession with a hard hit on the wolf.

I was ready to dip, ready to charge. Ready to get myself into the centre of the action. My rival badger, too, directly opposite, running full pelt. But, barely a second from a certain clash, the referee ended the affair early. "Reset!"

Reset: the call to say that play had devolved too far into a scramble. No clear progress to be made. Time for everyone to get back on their feet, and for whoever found themselves in possession to get us back underway.

Muddied, the two Warriors and two Scarlets players picked themselves up one by one. Their big bull was the last to rise, revealing what he'd kept well buried and protected under his frame. Possession Scarlets.

I sucked in air, puffing out my cheeks on my way back to position five paces back from where play would restart. I ran the stats in my head. One phase played, one phase with no real involvement. But, no mistakes either. I'd got myself right where I needed to be, not resting back on my heels to let that badger beat me to the punch. I had this. I could build on this.

Looking far left, to the opposite sideline, I could just about spot Coach thumbing his approval for our efforts. Beyond that, in the stand, I had little chance of seeing what Sam made of it. No matter. I _knew_he'd approved of what he'd seen of me so far.

"Yes!" I growled under my breath, hitting my chest again, letting the adrenaline burn hot, pushing myself up to the next level. This was my day! My damn day!

I turned back to see the bull lift a boot and touch the ball to it. Phase two began in earnest.

I charged again, ate up the turf, trying to disrupt their flow and rush the pass. He was big, for sure... but slow, too. Awkward. Telegraphing his intentions. I'd expected his pass to go back to the second row, to build the play from there... but no, he was going left. Straight to the badger ahead. If either of them had been looking, they'd have seen my smirk. I dug deep, rushed forward, went all in.

I had my coach and captain in my ear, hearing their pleas to hit hard and bring this guy down a peg. By the time the pass had been released, I'd already built up a head of steam. I watched the ball spin through the air, headed exactly where I thought it would. They'd blown it. Given themselves away.

There was nothing else out here but that ball and the open arms of their heavyset badger. It found his paws. I dipped my head and found my target.

Green and gold collided with red, forcing it to shift and retreat. I drove myself on, smashing a shoulder straight into his chest. A solid slap and thunderous boom rose up, underlined by the violent grunt I ripped from the depths of my opposition. The rest of my arm followed, flexed, wrapping around his side and clamping tight to his back. I let loose. Unleashed everything I had upon him.

Big, heavy, solid. None of it mattered. I rolled through him like a fucking freight train. Any resistance came short lived, giving way to my charge and hurtling along with me. He rocketed back as if he were a cardboard cutout of the guy I'd been staring down. I had him totally under my power, feet up and off the ground, kicking out as I drove across the mud. The only thing out here that'd best me would be gravity.

We struck the ground so hard that my jaw tensed and my teeth bit deep into my mouthguard. What then the impact on the badger I'd slammed down upon?

The thump we sent out between us must've spread way beyond the trees surrounding the pitch. Anyone in the park surely knew all there was to know about that tackle.

I grunted hard, momentum sending me off of his gut and into a second slam to the ground. The crash knocked me off-centre, unsure of which way was up. Again, what then for my opponent, laid flat-out beside me?

Time stood still. Between a muddy mess of fur and fabric, I clocked eyes on the ball, slowly slipping from the badger's desperate, clawing grasp. My senses returned, aligned. Enough to keep me tracking my target as it fully escaped into the air.

It bounced once. Kind. Staying within reach ahead of me. Beyond, a forest of red-socked legs charged towards me, closing by the millisecond. Instantly, instinctually, I smashed my paws to the turf, bent a leg, planted a foot, heaving myself as far forward as I could.

The ball rose with me, fell with me. I reached out my arms, strained hard, took it in one paw, and clawed it back towards the other. A half-second before a wiry marble fox arrived from the flank to try the same.

I snatched the ball to my chest, throwing out my free arm. I found his shoulder as his shoulder found me, pushing back with everything I had. Sorry, fox. No way was I losing a battle of strength to a flanker.

He less fell, more bounced down to the turf. The rest of me followed through, pummeling and parrying him away, helplessly onto his side. A taster of what I'd done to his far bigger teammate.

I landed square on the ball, curling up to shield it under my arms, chest and gut, steeling myself for the inevitable.

Anyone within range piled on from all sides, one after the other, the weight and pressure upon me increasing by the second. Arms and paws pushed and prodded, trying their best to get at what I had beneath me. No chance. Friend or foe, I shook off whoever I could and got as much of myself over the ball as possible. At that moment, I'd have defied anyone to best me.

The ref's whistle split the air. Music to my ears. "Reset!"

Finally, the pressure eased and the battling stopped. Light returned. I saw the skunk in black running over to assess the state of play. It didn't take him long. "Turnover. Warriors ball."

Up went the cheers, filling me with a glow, an energy that propelled me up to my feet in a heartbeat. The green and gold of my shirt had turned more brown from the divot I'd helped create in the turf, and never had I felt so good for it.

"Yes, M!" Lukas reached me first, jumping, grabbing me by the shoulders and shaking, fired up, maybe even more than me. "That's what it's about, man."

Sandor ran in next, followed by Jozka, then Radko the boar, bumping fists to mine and snarling with their approval. Konrad hollered out, too, but only to act as captain, reminding us about our, "Positions!"

Our celebrations ended fast, but the ripple of appreciation from the few dozen rooting for us continued. Sam included, I just knew it.

"Ref!" cried their coyote captain, charging forward from their centre line. "Spike tackle! That's a spike, c'mon."

That fox I'd put on his tail echoed the complaint. The badger, too, surrounding the shorter skunk.

"No lift. No spike," the ref shot back, waving them away. Outsized, but not overwhelmed. "Fair tackle. Play on."

None of them looked happy with that decision. My rival ahead especially, wiping the mud from his headfur, and his sharpening, creasing muzzle. Fuck him. I couldn't have cared less.

What a start! Two phases in, and I'd won this ball back with the biggest tackle of my season. I was buzzing, bouncing, literally. That was the moment to build from, the moment to drive me on to have the best game of the season so far, all while my little 'panda watched it unfold before him. Hah, yeah. A nice thought... I should only be so lucky.

That positive warm up and fantastic opening proved to be less of a foundation and more of a peak. We rallied on, taking the game to a Scarlets team that couldn't hang with our opening physicality. Thirty minutes into the first forty minute half, we'd run in two scores and made a single conversion, giving up just a single dropkick goal to earn a 12-3 lead.

But, with the help of my team around me, I'd managed to paper over some growing, widening cracks. As decent as I might have been with my tackling, my possession game was spotty at best. A near-drop here, an illegal forward pass there. I could've blamed the wind, or the increasingly muddy conditions, but what good would that've been? No matter the reasons, I was clocking up handling errors like they were going out of fashion, and godsdamn, didn't the constant nagging in my head let me know all about it. Do better, it insisted. Stop making the same mistakes over and over. The same mistakes I'd made in previous games that season. Mistakes that I couldn't stop myself playing out all over again in the most vivid, agonising detail.

Thinking back to how I dropped the ball against the Knights had me repeating myself, misjudging a pass receipt and letting it slip through my fingers.

Remembering the way I found myself well out of position on an attack during our game against the Rebels, breaking it down just short of their score line, had me double, triple checking myself. Hesitant. Slow in possession and slow to release. More than once, that saw me draw Scarlets tackles that I needn't have, breaking down our offensive play and costing us ground.

Then came other errors. Worse ones. The kinds that offset any benefits my size or my success in the tackle offered to the team.

Pavel charged forward with the ball, jinking right to pass a Scarlets otter, then cutting left to outmanoeuvre one of their bigger bear centres. Great flanker play. I had to sprint with all I had just to stay in range of the fast-moving beaver.

He couldn't get past their captain; the coyote stood his ground, leaving him nowhere to go as the backs beyond formed their last defence of the score line.

Pavel dipped and charged, thundering into him to earn a few final paces of our advance. The coyote stood firm, throwing his arms around our beaver, holding and forcing him to stop and turn for support.

The thick mud sapped the life from my legs, but I kept on running, kept on eating up ground to offer support. A Scarlets back rammed into Pavel, grabbing him by the tail, turning it into a two-on-one contest. He grimaced, staggered and pushed against the possum, battling to keep the ball, fighting to stay upright long enough to offer me the pass.

'Don't drop it.'

Fuck! Back came that voice, sucking more energy than any amount of mud could.

'Sam's watching.'

Join the play, or shy away? A genuine question that I asked myself in full flight.

'Don't let everyone down.'

I was closest. No place to hide. I had to man up and play my part.

Pavel's legs wobbled, ready to buckle. He threw his back at the coyote and possum, winning enough time for me to make a couple more strides before he crumbled under their combined pressure.

Halfway down, he threw out his arms, hurling the ball my way. It spun wildly, rising past my chest, face, ears. I'd need to jump. Throw up and stretch my arms. Most red pandas would've struggled. I had my height to thank for feeling the ball hit my palms.

I clamped my paws around it. Squeezed. Held firm. It stayed true. No slips. No errors. A good catch.

I pulled the ball down, cradled in my arm and slammed it tight to my chest. The Scarlets' defense were on me in a flash.

Someone charged from my left, arrowing in. I didn't waste time. Still speeding, I threw out my shoulder, putting all my weight into the block. He smashed the side of my gut and hip hard, but damned if I didn't grit my teeth and hit him harder. My stomach sloshed and my whole body rocked, tail swinging and slapping my legs. A temporary slowdown in my forward charge. Nothing compared to what I left in my wake. I saw the ferret in red crumple up and crash down to the turf, arms spread and tail tucked. I had no time to admire my work. More, larger Scarlets came, putting up the same resistance they had for my teammate. Their captain struck me firmly in the chest, amazing strength for a smaller coyote. The bear that Pavel had skipped past had recovered position, making it back onside to crash into me from the right. One of their backs arrived to make it three. My charge ended within touching distance of the score line.

I heard the cheers and shouts of encouragement from the sidelines. The hammering of pawsteps, too.

I rolled and threw my back and my hips into my opponents, snatching myself an extra second to set and resist their attempts at putting me down to the turf.

Teammates and opposition alike charged up the pitch, bringing themselves into play. I was done for. They had me by the sides, the legs, and the tail. I had to lay it off.

Out wide, I couldn't miss Kaspar flying up the right wing, arm raised, demanding the ball. The short fox was wide open, far too fast for those trying to keep up with him. I had Jozka and Lukas charging to aid me, ready to charge in an attempt to force us over the line, but my mind was already made up. Kaspar was the outlet. He'd take us to our third score.

I shrugged the coyote's snatching paws away, protecting the ball long enough to wind up the pass.

'Don't overdo it.'

Tracking Kaspar's run, eyeing up the line, I swung my arms and heaved the ball away.

'Don't mess it up!'

My paws trembled at the very last moment. Not enough to disrupt the flight of the ball. It looked good. Arcing and sailing through the air with a strong, shallow line. It arrowed true, heading straight for the space that Kaspar would soon occupy. What an incredible pass this'd be... An amazing play, and an even better assist... Almost.

'Too hard.'

"Fuck!" I couldn't keep it bottled up. That fucking voice... I'd proved it right again. So keen, so desperate to get this pass away, I'd overcooked it. Kaspar did what he could, putting on the afterburners, reaching, stretching, snarling, dipping further and further forward... but not even the fastest guy on the field could bail me out. The ball flew past his grasping paws. Fell to the grass. Bobbled away beyond the sideline. Out of play.

Kaspar barked his frustrations, swiping an arm my way in disgust. His lung-bursting sprint proved all for nothing. All thanks to me.

The blast of the ref's whistle pierced my ears. Scarlets' ball.

"I was wide open," the fox cried, throwing his arms out to emphasise that fact. "C'mon..."

I had nothing to say. He wasn't wrong. The mistake was all mine...

He sulked back down the line to retake his position. I retreated, too, fighting against the urge to sink in the mire of my mental self-immolation. We had to ready up for the punt and the rush that'd reopen the game.

As strong and as positive as I tried to be, I couldn't stop the fizzing in my stomach from returning with a vengeance. I tensed up, shoulders heavy, head sinking towards turf that I wasn't far from hoping might open and swallow me up.

"Keep going," Lukas insisted, running over to clamp a paw on my shoulder. "Head up, man. It's all good."

I gave that a try, only to find disappointment in his eyes, too. A stiff, gusting breeze chilled me right through to my bones.

Jozka stomped over to take his place in the centre of the forward line beside me. I reckoned even his wide shoulders were sagging.

"Head in the game!" Here came Konrad, glaring, scowling. Intense as ever. A quick slap up at my cheek from the wolf lifted my ears, but little else of me. "Mistakes happen. Move on."

Was I really looking that lost? To earn a run all the way from the centre from our captain? My gut growled. The fizzing reached fever pitch. Fuck. I was falling to pieces out here. Why couldn't they just leave me alone? Let me play the game. I didn't need this added pressure...

I dared myself to glance towards the bench. A glutton for punishment. Coach was there, striding side to side in his space atop it. Tomas sat there watching him, rubbing over his brow. They looked to be deep in fierce conversation, firing back at one another... no doubt about me and that last failure of a pass.

All I could do from that point on was to try my hardest to lift myself. Get back into the game. Avoid any more mistakes. For the most part, I succeeded. Helped in part by some good firm tackles, but helped mostly by the fact that possession barely came my way before the ref blew for half time.

Back in the changing room. Back in the icy gloom. In some way, preferable to being out there in the open with all eyes on me. Slumped in my corner, I could avoid most of the talk and the attention being thrown about. Focus just on myself... the mistakes I made, and how best I could try to put them right--

"Marek!"

Coach's growl carved through me, shocked and jolted me from slumping to sitting. I peered up to find him gazing down from his assistant's paws.

"What's up? Are you all good?"

The usual edge to his voice had gone missing, gruffness giving way to subtlety. Words for me and me alone. That sounded more alarm bells than some good, old fashioned roaring would have.

"Listen..." Tomas set the bear down on the bench beside my twitching tail, sinking away to take his own seat on the bench opposite. "Your tackling and running is absolutely spot on today... but we can't afford to keep giving up possession to these guys. We might be leading, but that could all change in an instant."

I was happy to see the rest of my team busy with their own prep for the second half, deep in their own various discussions. It kept them from focusing on me here on Coach's naughty step.

"Simple balls," Tomas chimed in to add, smiling. "Lay it off easy and let the second row and the centres do the ballwork..."

I nodded, then again to whatever else he had to say. Drifting off wasn't by choice at all, but spotting Damian a couple of benches away, staring down into his lap, fully focused. The wolverine was raring to go, primed to pounce after another big mistake. I couldn't let myself go out like that.

"Okay?"

"Okay!" I fired back, slapping a paw to the husky's. He scooped up Coach and headed off to share some more words of wisdom with the others. Amiable as it was, I took that talk as my last warning. No more screw ups. My grumbling stomach and tightening shoulders wouldn't let me forget it.

The fifteen minutes for halftime passed by in a flash. As soon as we'd properly settled in our changing room, the time came to file back out onto the cold, lumpy, difficult turf.

Jogging past the stands, I couldn't help but think of how much extra spring the Scarlets had in their step. A 12-3 scoreline was decent, but not as comfortable as it could've, maybe should've been... especially with my failed pass to Kaspar.

It wasn't until we'd taken positions for the restart that I realised I hadn't looked for Sam in the stands. For the second half, playing towards the opposite end of the pitch, I'd be right in front of him, of Coach, Tomas, and the rest of the crowd. Easier for me to see them all, and easier for them all to see me... and my play.

I'd not get the chance to find my little 'panda. With big, forceful strides, The Scarlets' badger came into my eyeline, fully occupying my attention on his way into position opposite me. The red of his shirt, shorts and socks still carried the mud picked up in our battles from the first half. His dagger-like eyes, stabbing my way, told me there'd be no let up. He'd be gunning to get the better of me this time around.

Between him and the rest of his team, all focused, giving off an aura of outrage over the losing position they'd found themselves in, there was no question that we'd be having ourselves a real battle ahead in this second half. I'd need to dig deeper than ever to get through this.

Our opening rush passed me by for the most part. Konrad's punt flew far beyond my position, dropping kindly for Jozka to leap, make the catch and lay the ball off to Sandor on our second row. The raccoon kept the play going down his side, building our attack on the left, leaving me to make a comfortable opening to this half.

What plays I did get involved with those opening few minutes were routine as I could've hoped for. A gentle reintroduction. Mostly, they called on me to add my weight and strength to a post-rush bundle, or the occasional tackle to stop a Scarlets advance before it had proper time to build. Possession came at a premium for me, whether intended or not. I wasn't fussed. Anything to keep us winning, and to keep me from making mistakes in front of Sam, or anyone else, came very much welcome.

But, I couldn't avoid it forever. The ball would come down our right side eventually, and I'd have no choice but to play my part.

Jozka drove hard into his opposite number, pushing the bull back, gaining as much ground as he could on this rush. He had to. We'd been forced to defend deep, with little to no opening for a good advance up the field.

Strong as he was, hard as he'd tried, our big buck couldn't do it all. One-on-one became two-on-one. He had to turn, drop. Try to shield the ball from the Scarlets' attention.

He couldn't. The ball slipped free, rolling out from under his chest. No choice left but to throw out his arms and push it back desperately across the turf.

My charge to try and support him in the rush left me closest. Just a couple of paces away from where the ball took its first bobble on the bumpy turf. I had eyes for nothing else. Mind only for keeping us in possession.

Scooping the ball up proved easy. I threw it to my chest, squeezed it tight just like... I'd squeeze Sam after a week away from him. A lovely thought. A thought I didn't have the time to dwell on.

Nothing fancy, I insisted from myself, hearing Coach and Tomas clear in my mind. Keep it simple.

A routine layoff would let us build, let us work away from our score line. I wound up my arms, twisting left to where... I'd _expected_to find Lukas on the second row...

Our goalposts stood almost directly behind me... That wasn't right. Shit!

So focused on getting on the ball, I'd moved way more central than I'd realised. Lukas wasn't there. The centres closest were still too far deep for the easy layoff I'd prepared.

"M!" Lukas screamed. Panicked. From my right.

I shifted my weight, twisted, begging to find the tiger wide open. He was! With arms reaching out from barely more than a pace behind. If only I'd gone right from the get go...

The whole world shifted. Raced left while I flew right. My neck whipped hard. Legs went limp. A thumping impact to my whole left side staggered me, literally. Gravity took pause, leaving me to flail helplessly. Weightless. It more than made up for matters on its return.

I struck the turf as if I'd fallen from orbit. Crashing, driving so hard into it that I'm sure the ground gave way. My shoulders slammed down first. Head struck next. Hard enough to scramble every signal in my brain.

I'd gone from standing to sprawling in a second, buried under the crushing weight of the huge badger that'd sent me there.

He shoved himself onto his knees, aided by one massive paw clamping my chest. His smirk lingered the whole way up to his feet. Payback. Fucker. I wasn't about to let that lie.

I battled to correct myself... but I had enough of a fight just to find every part of me. My paws pressed at the turf, doing their utmost to help me get back into the game. Inside, the haze in my head began to clear, giving space to start making sense of things. The first? The pain.

I choked out a growl, arms shaking, struggling even to begin moving me off of my back. Breathing... did nothing. My chest, my ribs, they felt like someone had taken a sledgehammer to them. It seared, spreading, overtaking me from my neck to my stomach. Still I fought for air, but it was as if my lungs had stopped working. My eyes watered, tail tucking and wrapping around myself. For a second, I would've had no shame in admitting to being scared out of my mind. I'd been hit so hard, so fully, it was like my whole body had begun to shut down.

Badger up and gone, I somehow hauled myself onto my stomach, reeling around like a fish out of water. Mud, smeared all over my cheek and chin; the only thing I could smell once I did manage the first semblance of inward breath. Scarlet socks rumbled past me, leaving me to face a pain that just refused to die. Gods, it hurt so fucking much. From the left side of my chest all the way to the other.

Despite the pain, the daze, the struggle to breathe, I managed to get myself up to my knees. On all fours, I realised, finally... I didn't have the ball.

I looked downfield, watching a horde of Scarlets players rushing for our score line. Out wide, racing down their left side, I found their otter on the wing carrying the ball free, escaping close attention to dive forward and slam down for a score... 12-8. With a successful conversation, they'd be only two points behind.

My arms wobbled again, threatening to give completely. So much for digging deep. The only thing I'd dug into was the turf. All thanks to a tackle I'd opened myself wide open for. Fuck... so much pain... and not just from my ribs.

The biggest battle of my game so far was that final push from my knees to my feet. My whole upper body protested, centred right where that badger had connected hardest, just below my armpit. I could hear calls from the sideline, but I didn't dare face them... Not at first anyway.

"Marek!" Coach screamed from his assistant husky's paws. "Sub off!"

I think I pretended not to hear. Still, the tight, intense pain in my side left me hazy. My right arm supported it, gripping, as if it might ease the pain. Breathing still didn't come easy.

"Sub!" Coach didn't let up, rotating fingers; the signal for a substitution. I couldn't miss that. Nor could I miss the lynx linesman's raised flag, or our skunk referee running over to put a paw to my back and nudge me towards the sideline. That was it. My game was over.

Even with a polite ripple of applause from those spectating, my walk to the bench was awfully lonely. Horrific. I couldn't bear to look anywhere but down, eyes on my boots while all others were on me. As ever, I knew exactly where Sam sat watching. I made sure to avoid him.

Ahead, Damian stood in wait on the touchline, getting some final instructions directly in his ear from Coach, aided by Tomas' raised paws. The wolverine put on a sympathetic smile for me. That just made things worse.

"Good game, Marek," he said, offering a paw. I traced it twice over, looking for sarcasm. If there was any, he'd hidden it well.

I clasped his paw, getting a pat on the butt as Damian rushed past to take my place. Without question, that'd go down as the most painful pawshake ever. Good company for my searingly tender ribs.

Tomas came to join me on the bench, playing his role as part-time physio to give me the once over. He asked questions, prying, trying to dig deeper into how I was feeling, but I wasn't ready to play ball. Not that kind of ball at least.

"I'm fine," I insisted, finding my paws to be more interesting than anything else at that moment. "Just a knock. It winded me."

"Right," he muttered back. I didn't much care if he'd bought it or not. "Listen, Marek. We put Damian on to mix things up. Get some more speed in the centre. You did well out there."

I nodded. Almost. The most token of all efforts. He could go into politics with that kind of rhetoric...

I had a front row seat to the faultless conversion kick that gave us a 12-10 scoreline. All the great work we'd done in the first half had been undone barely five minutes after the restart.

Even worse, from then on, all I could do was watch the rest of the game unfold, helpless to do anything to influence the passage of play in any meaningful way... Maybe that was for the best.

As devastating and as demoralising as conceding those points might've been, we managed to keep things even for the most part, refusing to give up much ground to the Scarlets forward row, even with a newfound physicality to their play.

Jozka did great work to guide and rally our left and right-side tackles. Damian especially looked well-drilled, rarely far away from the action.

While I liked to see it as a Warriors player, I hated to say it as a rival for his position... Damian looked good. The wolverine's red mohawk stood out like a beacon, unmissable as he did what he could to battle against that taller badger. He was decent enough in the tackle, standing the opposition up long enough for our teammates to come and support him. While he might not have been as effective on the physical side of things, it was in possession of the ball that Damian really shined...

He had such quick feet for a bigger guy, almost as tricky as a flanker. His forward runs made up decent ground, finding more success from ducking and dancing around opponents than charging through them, like I relied upon.

Then, when the time came to lay the ball off, the pass stuck. No dropping the ball, no misplacement, just... success. Man... he really was decent, and not even fully fit. I'd seen plenty of him in training, but... I had no idea he was on this level.

My teammates on the bench stood up to applaud one particularly jinking run, blasting past two centres to bring us within range of the score line. As for me... I slumped back and pondered over how long it'd be before I'd get myself back out there.

This was awful, and with every piece of positive play from the wolverine, it only got worse. How could I face Sam after this? He'd been here watching this entire time, seeing me make mistake after mistake, before getting replaced by this younger, faster, better version of me.

I threw my paws to my face, grunting and agonising over more than just the jolt of pain that shot out from my side. After this display, there'd be no doubt left. Sam's big rushball 'panda... was nothing more than a big fraud.