There was a gentle rap at the latrine door.
"Dakkan, pup, are you alright? Have you finished vomiting?"
It was one term of endearment that he did not care for, but it had become a private joke between them - she was the setup, and he was the punchline. She sounded genuinely worried, though.
"I am ever so sorry for throwing you on the bed with such force, I had no idea that you Lutren make them so shoddy."
She perked up. "I cleaned up the wreckage and most of the blood, so please come out already? My little salmon pastry", she cooed in her brass baritone voice, "my slippery mountain shark?"

Dakkan sighed and pressed his head between his knees. Lutren hair was naturally more oily than Canid but useless at softening blows unlike his wife's thick pelt, which seemed to be an endless source of puzzlement for her. She was persistent in trying to wring out the tactical and/or strategic benefit of having such an absurd hide, her words, with his help or without.

It was not always unpleasant, but this time his head was throbbing and he was being belted by the roiling lurches of a mild concussion. At least the bleeding had stopped, he noted, while gingerly prodding the gash and opening it again. A trickle of clear meat juice rolled along his snout and tasted salty.

This was not how he had envisioned marital bliss in general, and most definitely not how he would spend his wedding night in specific. The amount of time spent in dank lavatories would be noticeably shorter, practically nonexistent for starters. Still, they were making good progress. They had gone through the Bird style and Bee style of martial arts, and the only one left now was the more uncommon Stork style. Dakkan hoisted himself up and stood woozy but steadfast in spirit. He still had a couple of tricks in his pocket that he was eager to show her!

The door creaked open. "Best two out of three?", he smiled.