the stone circle reeks of blood and piss. a heavy stench that permeates and sinks into rock, boulder, and mountain alike. an undeniable claim, one that the viking bastard ignores as he breached the territory. disregarding the claim, sneering at every pine drenched with urine. he is angry, and perhaps that's why he's bold enough to seek this circle as his own. fuck the claim and fuck the wolf who wished to carve their legacy here. 

perhaps he doesn't even want it. perhaps it's a fight he's truly looking for; a worthy one. a bloody one. after all the loss and all the pain endured, sinking his teeth into flesh and feeling the brutality of another's axe was exactly what the foolish man craves. and so with every other burdened step, he's stopping to raise his leg and erase the old claim with a new. a blatant disrespect that no man could ignore for long.

a murder of crows flock above, waiting for bloodshed. waiting for a victor.

the crows above squawk in sharp warning. alerting the man of the north to the presence before weight and muscle collide. it is violent and it is swift; rocking the foundation that was Vémundr's readied stance. the viking is larger, more imposing. heavy with his blow. Vé's claws dig shallow grooves into the earth as he is tossed against the trunk of a pine. it trembles beneath the violent wake, shedding needles that find a home within the two viking's fur.

teeth pierce the flesh of his shoulder and is met with a wild, pained snarl. he is cornered and he is overwhelmed, but he will not relent. he will not bow. his lips curl to reveal yellowed teeth as he whips his head to find the mark of the man's face. tooth slicing through flesh to sink and anchor. he fights and thrashes against the tree and the mountain of a man to free himself, but it is futile.

the pain is searing. white-hot agony that he hadn't felt before. the ear torn in half rings as the flow of blood clogs and deafens. the flesh spit onto the ground—a disrespect and brutality felt within bone. 

Vémundr stands little chance. the odds are against him as even when he slips free of the cage against the pine, the assault does not let up. again and again he's faced with fang and fury of a man crazed. it is bloodlust. it is chaos. 

and still, his ego will not allow him to set down his axe. he will not submit, even as the face of death dances in his peripheral. it is then his other ear is assaulted, treated with the same wrath. torn clean in two, cropped and left to bleed. 

he wheels around on his hind limbs, seeking to crash himself against the jagged and sharp rock that is the other Viking. a mass he cannot fell but would die trying to. his tail lashes, a flag and a target.