Stavanger Bay Really bad eggs.

He should have let her run off, taken the victory as it was and settled the hell down. She had tried to prove something of herself - something of him - and failed. But the man was too riled up now. The rise of his adrenaline worked in tandem with his anger. He watched as the woman tried to find purchase on the sand, kicking up dust as she flew for an escape route along paths familiar to herself, and Firefly had to duck from the wave of grit that came close to blinding him; he knew better than the give chase right off the bat. This bitch liked to throw curve balls — she moved swiftly and with tricks up her proverbial sleeve.

The warrior only got so far before the shadow chose to pursue. He would not let this woman win; he had reached his limit of her kind, and would not relent until he'd punished her for rising up against him in such a way. Stranger or not, guardian of the rift or not, subordinate or not — she was a woman and she would be taught her place. Firefly huffed and puffed as he climbed after her along the ridge and as he got nearer to her position, reached and snapped at her hocks, eager to break those pretty little legs as retribution for the damage she had done to him.