one god, one land, one king

Yep!

The fight was long and difficult, more than Aesop had been prepared for.  Time and time again pain lanced through him, cutting like teeth in flesh.  By the end he was ragged and wounded, bleeding from countless puncture wounds in his neck.  He had won, but only barely, and at great cost.  Aesop's breathing was harsh and ragged, a rush in his throat as his heart pounded a rallying call through him.  "Right back at you," Aesop said.  For much of the fight, Aesop had been at a disadvantage, so he thought it silly to pay an obvious compliment.  He did so only to mask his upset.  He was not a fighting man.

"I'm seeing you to the borders," he said, his distrust of the male running far too deep to let him go alone in their lands.  His lands.  "That's not a prize you've won.  Just remember that you lost, and the Bay doesn't take kindly to intruders.  Now move." He wanted Burke gone, gone far away and never to return, never to disturb Aesop's peace again.  The call of battle was a strong one, the temptation to make himself a hero, a warrior, too powerful.  He squared himself, drew himself up, stern and monolithic, prepared to see Burke out and wash his hands of the ordeal.