Dragoncrest Cliffs —i can't help but pull the earth around me,

Rakk scoots across the frozen soil, eliciting a louder snarl from the brana. Want he a swift end? To go out as painless as possible to beings he has wronged? Laughable! Natjuk punctuates this with a fevered snap, the force exerted sounding like a steel trap. No mercy.

Fur bristles and spit pools in the recesses of his mouth as Rakk's pale eyes stare up at him. There is an efficacious will within him, one Natjuk would have lauded had they met under different circumstances. As is, umbrage intensifies as his opponent struggles to stand. Good. I want a fight.

He rushes like the crack of a whip to Rakk's left, mindful of the bastard's teeth. He tries to force him off balance, bulldozing with his superior bulk. Rakk is missing a leg and Natjuk is not about to ignore that glaring weakness.