Stone Circle ᚨᚱᛁᛗᛁᛚᛁ

the shift is felt before the strike—tone before tooth. sigvard sees it in the dark flash of his gaze, in the brute force of paws dragging against root and rock. gone is the thrill, the testing edge. now it comes to bear. dominion. intent. the way beasts fight for gods or graves. his favorite sort, in a way.

when he lunges again, wild and brutal, sigvard evades and dives in after him. a bite lands hard at the nape, solid and jarring, teeth meeting flesh, and he matches it with teeth to his foreleg—digging, digging. pain flares sharp through him, stars bursting white behind his eyes, but he does not cry out.

he growls and bucks hard beneath his grip—whole body driving backward, spine curling, legs locking as he lifts just enough to slam his weight back into the beast's chest, blunt-force meant to break breath, to shove him loose. he twists again, this time more savagely, one hind leg hooking to drive the brute sideways—toward the stone pillars. if they fall, they fall together. if blood must run, it will run from both.