Duskfire Glacier maeth

def: 3 / atk: 8

The blow lands with a force that nearly lifts him from his feet—sharp, unrelenting, perfectly placed. Faust’s teeth carve across his flank, cutting shallow but true, and the sting of it blossoms bright beneath Astier’s hide. The air leaves him in a low, guttural breath, half-snarl, half-steadying grit. 
But he does not falter.
Pain anchors him; it sharpens, steadies, steels. He turns with it, never away, using the torque of the strike to pivot, to regain footing. And then he lunges, low and fast, not with the devastating precision of before, but with a flicker of resolve behind his strike. Teeth snap for Faust’s shoulder, a feint more than a finishing blow, a bid to test his guard; reminding him the Wraith is not so easily cast in shadow. Not yet.