Big Salmon Lake fallen so far, like a shooting star

If something doesn't make sense, can you please PM me? I have not role played very many fights, to be honest. ;_;

Tonravik's curiosity was enough to keep him prattling on and on about something past and done, but what was the point? He would only feel the letdown course through him like a tempestuous river. Perhaps the Tartok woman saw that? And yet she did not back away in his bout of resignation, drawing closer to canvass his blemishes. In the same way she did, he gave her a obdurate glower. Courtesy is what had kept him at a distance, and yet such constructs were lost upon Tonravik, it seems. Or maybe she just did not care, viewing him as someone nonthreatening.             Such presumptions were best left to rot.             At her introduction (and the dwindling proximity betwixt them), his ears twitched and his guard hairs spiked. She lured him, and he was oh-so anxious to bite down on the offer, statistics be damned. Yes, he was bushed, his muscles ached with the buildup of lactic acid...but he was a pertinacious son-of-a-bitch. More importantly, he felt that actions were more prestigious than speech right now. For was that not Tartok's most conspicuous attribute? ...No, it was not, but he could guarantee that it was in Tartok's top ten.            “And I am Vehiron,” he said in passing, rolling his shoulders and stretching his limbs. He prepared himself, cupping his ears against his skull and guarding his throat, raising his hackles and widening his legs. No inelasticity lied in his stance. Only calm, of someone who was so used to this precaution. The only warning he gave her was a snarl, and he was off, propelling himself at her. It only took one bound to reach her where she resided, his jowls spread wide as he made movement to latch onto her left forearm...before extending and curving his neck to latch onto the skin on the side of her neck.