Larksong Grotto Sangilak

Well.

There was winning, and then there was — whatever this was. The crack of something and the ensuing limp reaction of the rival's body told Kigipigak all he needed to know; he went down alongside Njord and pinned him where he lay for a moment, to make certain he would not rise.

When he did release the man's nape he did it tentitavely, and then hastily moved off of him and away, in case there came a surprise retaliation. Before when Kigipigak had fought others, he'd left them at least awake.

He stood, watchful and cautious, to make sure the other man's ribs were shifting with his breath, and they were. A look to the sky came next - to check if there was snow on the way or if it would be safe to leave this man where he was. Kigipigak could not tell, and cursed under his breath.

It was not the style of success he was used to. This felt less like a proper end to a spar and more, ah... More like he'd just killed a man. Less than satisfying, somewhat numbing. Kigipigak ventured close enough to give Njord a once-over quickly, and saw no blood had been shed except the mess that seeped from his own ankle.

Cursing again, as the warmth reminded Kigipigak of his own injury and the tenderness of the flesh there. He sank to his haunches as he deliberated what to do about all of this. While thinking things over, he saw something pale and pink gleaming in the snow, some distance back; intrigued, he sulked over and found the shell that Njord had carried with him, oblivious to its significance.

At least the other man still lived, he thought, and grimaced down at his ankle which would need something to staunch the bleeding, flowing with his steps and marking his trail to where the shell sat upon the snow. With a sigh he grabbed for it, and continued on his way.