Bramblepoint i am faster than 80% of all snakes

By any standard, Njord was born gentle. Fighting never came naturally to him, as a child or a man. Only after training with Kigipigak had he learned the art of violence. Even then, Njord seldom used his new talents.

However, a father’s fury was a force to be reckoned with. The sight of his daughter – injured and afraid – sent a shock through the man. Too many terrible memories of his loved ones, dead or bloodied, were harbored in his heart. Like a retired Highlander, Njord picked up the blade and hammer once more and charged with a ferocious battlecry.

In his peripheral, another man joined: brown-furred and scarred. There was no time for questions. The three warriors engaged the strange beast with all their strength.

The Sveijarn, more agile than he was strong, zigged and zagged as he adeptly parried the tiger’s ferocious attacks. Wolf and tiger blood, the color of red wine, mixed on the ground. One by one, the wolves were forced to fall back until only Njord remained.

Njord would be lying if he said he did not feel fear. Slowly, his energy waned as his flesh was cut open time and time again. His muscles became fatigued. His joints ached. His whole body shook with the effort to stand.

But their foe was in an equally poor condition. Twice, the tiger tried to flee, and twice Njord reeled it back. Death was the only proper ending for this terrible monster. He managed to whittle the tiger down to the last ounce of its life before, franticly, it struck Njord for a final time and managed to escape.

He could not pursue the cat any longer. Exhausted and dizzy, the red-tail slumped to the ground.