Stavanger Bay Really bad eggs.

Firefly had never murdered anyone, and liked to think of himself as too level-headed to do anything of the sort.

He'd fought his enemies, he'd fought his friends, he'd fought against the dangerous beasts of the wild, and came out of all of it with scars to his body to match — but there wasn't a single piece of him that thought he'd been changed in a deeper and more profound way by all of that violence. The trauma of his evisceration by the cougar was far behind him. The battle upon the Dragedan cliffside was in the past too; the struggles of keeping his rank and power were freshest in his mind, but even with his dethroning by Vaati and the inherent chaos of Rusalka's women, he never thought to harm them in any meaningful way. He certainly never entertained the thought of murdering Rosalyn — but something had changed in him, darkened him, spoiled him from the inside-out.

The man was not in a rational frame of mind; in fact, it would be hard for him to ever look back upon this moment with any clarity, not knowing the purpose for his anger or his hostility towards the stranger. Perhaps it helped that the bird was so foreign to him — he could place her in an other category, distance himself further from the events here, and allow the darkness to rise from his depths like his own personal storm surge. She was the unfortunate target of many months of building rage; of his deepest feelings of guilt; his seething self-loathing given a womanly face that he could break in to pieces, because who would care? She was a nobody to him — a flea on his back. A wretched creature trying to take the last vestiges of his ill-gotten power away, a typical woman.

As the warrior fled before Firefly there was a moment of silence inside of his head - like the prickling of static - and then he bellowed a lion-like roar that carried across the stonescape, and lunged for her.