Arrow Lake this empty northern hemisphere

Her eruption comes at a well timed pace, not that he expects the ferocity nor the speed contained within her puny silhouette; but there it is, rising and bursting forth with a shout in her terrible language. The sound of her voice ricochets inside his head. Her teeth are bared—then sliding so close, so dangerously close—and he counters with a snarl and the gaping of his own mouth.

They clash and deflect, cheek-to-jaw-to-grin and back again, neither backing down. Mesa certainly wasn't a warrior by any regard, his father having died before proper training could begin. Praimfaya had the upper hand when it came to talent and trained skill, but Mesa countered that with his incessant rage; his emotions making him an equal threat with his wild, frenzied assault. He would not back down any more than she would.