The Heartwood oh, death

The taste of blood spurred a certain adrenaline and distaste all in one. Fury, perhaps, not from the beast opposite of him but for life in general and the way it had played out. Visiting his wife’s alleged grave site, being met with teeth and red eyes, Akavir was certainly infuriated, but not stupid.

Or, perhaps he was. Another partial lunge as he saw the opening, a sloppy attack that did nothing but stall his own escape and miss his opponent without any grace. A rumbling snarl, the shadowrunner backed away toward the opening, champagne eyes flaring as he eyed the other, unwilling to turn his back but also willing to accept the strength and prowess of the other would certainly see him to an early grave should they continue.

The steering pain in his muscles revealed this would be felt for days if not weeks from now—the taste of blood not just from the red-eyed stranger but from him as well.