Týrr's focus was singular, though he was aware of the presence of those who had risen to Tuwawi's call fighting “beside” him though in truth they were likely scattered. This battle was not as strategic as a “shield wall”, more chaotic. Charge and attack, spread out. A part of the Rekkr yearned to break his concentration, long enough to get a quick assessment on Tuwawi and Manauia — for he had not seen the Amazon upon his initial charge into the scene but he knew she was there, but for the sake of preserving his life (despite that he was ready to die for Tuwawi and the Glacier) he did not take the risk. This move was appropriate as he went head to head with an ebony coated male that had stolen his focus off of one of the women. The odds were decidedly not in the other male's favor, for he seemed unfairly small to Týrr's height, and weight; but this was not a spar. It was not as if he could attempt to even his odds up for a fair fight.
Even so, Týrr did not go easy on the other male, did not even remotely, truly, feel bad about the advantage he seemed to hold against the other man. This was war, and all was fair, this was their Glacier and the sickly appearing male he fought against had made the ultimate mistake of invading. A wrong move, and a lesson that Týrr intended to force him to learn the hard way. Despite the advantage the Rekkr held the other male did not lay over and take it, which was admirable for an opponent, something that the Rekkr recognized even in war. Underestimating an enemy was the downfall of the arrogant — something he did not think himself to be. The ebony male gave as good as he got, laying a few blows on Týrr in a fury of tooth and claw, holding speed graced to him by his lithe appearance.
A split second, sped up by the race of adrenaline in his veins, mind singing with the blood rage that consumed him, coming naturally instead of induced by the mushrooms that Ragnar and the others had always been so keen on devouring before battle. The ebony male went for his throat, an anticipated action in which the split second of breath allowed Týrr enough time to jerk his muzzle down, tucking his throat to protect it, lest the sea man get a grip upon his jugular. It was most important part of his body to protect. He could not recover from an attack there, could not really defend himself if his throat was being crushed. It would mean a death blow and Týrr had no intentions of dying this day. The Rekkr moved, but was not quick enough for his opponent had caught the Rekkr's neck, teeth sinking into his flesh, and tearing as Týrr, with a violent jerk and a high pitched noise that closely resembled a whine of pain that gurgled off to an ardent snarl wrenched himself free of the other's teeth, a second wave of adrenaline keeping him high enough that he did not bother to stop, or care about the wounds in his neck.
Not life threatening, but they were deep enough that scarring was inevitable.
This was what he had trained for and he did not falter as he rounded the male and began to tear at his side, tearing with tooth and claw viciously with intent of payback. The snow was crimson with their blood, mixing where it dripped from each male's wounds, though the rush of warm blood did nothing to inspire even slight hesitation within the Rekkr. He went for the leg, gripping onto it as he would grasp a deer's leg: to tear it from the body. He felt and heard the ball joint of the other's shoulder pop and give way, the ripping of sinew but he was not ready to tear it entirely from the other's body, yet. No, he intended to make it slow and painful. Above and beyond the realm of 'payback'.
Týrr had made to lunge once more directly before their soot crowned leader's call for retreat rang out, causing his target to move out of his way as his jaws snapped shut, closing around air, his body skidding as his enemy ran ...or rather hobbled away on his remaining limbs. If not for their retreat, Týrr would not have stopped he would have kept going until he had taken the other's life. The desire to give chase was strong but he was beginning to feel the damage, particularity upon his neck, the other had inflicted. Still, he ignored it. Desperately, he swung his head, cringing against the pull of the fresh wounds, seeking Tuwawi in the chaos of the aftermath, immediately concerned for his Queen's welfare.
a crime so old as the sky and bone