Write me the beginning of a short story about two male dogs, a domestic belgian shepherd and a homeless pitbull, who meet in some woodland on a rainy day to fight

The rain fell in unrelenting sheets, drenching the leaf-strewn forest floor and weaving a glistening veil over the ancient trees. The pines swayed gently in the wind, their boughs heavy with water, creating a symphony of dripping echoes. In this damp, gray world where shadows danced wildly, two dogs prowled with instincts honed to a razor's edge. Max, the Belgian Shepherd, shook off the rain as he stepped into a clearing, his thick, sable coat weighed down by the downpour. He was every inch the embodiment of loyalty and strength; a proud companion who patrolled his suburban realm with watchful eyes and a steadfast spirit. But today, in this forgotten corner of the woods, he felt an unfamiliar tension beneath his paws. Across the clearing, the tall grass parted to reveal a lean, scrappy figure, drenched but defiant. Bruno, the homeless pitbull, was a warrior of the streets, his brown coat ragged but resilient, stitched with the remnants of survival. He had weathered storms tougher than the relentless rain, but the shimmer of his eyes told tales of battles fought in alleys rather than forests. Each dog sized the other up, instinctively gauging the threat and gauging the territory. Max’s stance was confident, legs firmly planted, while Bruno flexed his muscles beneath the weight of soaked fur, his lips drawn back in a cautious snarl. The whispers of the woods around them faded into an expectant hush, as if nature itself awaited the clash. But why fight? Each dog had their reasons, though unspoken. Max, feeling the pressure of his own repressed instincts—his lineage whispering of strength and dominance. And Bruno, weary of the world’s judgments, determined to assert his place in the hierarchy of the wild. The battle of two lives, two beginnings, ignited beneath the trees where shelter was a fleeting memory. Thunder rumbled in the distance, a warning growl that only intensified the charge in the air. Neither could back down—not now. As the rain beat down around them, the tension snapped, a spark igniting the unspoken promise of confrontation, swaying like the branches overhead. With a fierce howl that echoed amongst the drenched woods, they lunged forward, the dance of fury and survival beginning beneath the storm’s relentless gaze.