Larksong Grotto Sangilak

The time for words was at an end. The redtail gave one last cry, sounding more like the pitiful child Kigipigak thought he was, less the warrior, the father; the fact that Njord knew of the bloodline that Kigipigak came from was curious to him, but he had little time to react in any way.

The other wolf rushed him. Thrusting his fangs towards Kigipigak and snarling, using his seafaring body to the best of his ability. It was impressive to watch that tight muscle shift across his rival's body — and Kigipigak moved swiftly also, doing his part in this dance between men.

In the next moment Njord was striding confidently after Kigipigak, his head up. He called out, My true colors are tha Sveijarn red—! and Kigipigak saw his chance. Having been the one to gloat when faced with an enemy in his earlier brawls, he now read this pause as an opening.

Njord lunged and nearly clipped Kigipigak. It was a swift movement with enough momentum to worry the pale warrior, and yet he spun in retaliation as soon as the other man was outstretched beside him. While the rival's teeth scissored at air Kigipigak aimed a blunt strike to Njord's hip with the bulk of his own chest, and swung through the motion to reach further, to grab at the man's shoulder or brown scruff.

His goal was to grab, overpower, and pin the little hunter before this could escalate further. Kigipigak could not know if Njord was a true warrior or merely incensed by the bickering back and forth, but in the end it would not matter.

Sveijarn the man had called himself.

Kigipigak knew this word, but he could not speak for his mouth was full of fur.