Thyr scans the deeper shadows, trying to peer around the legs of the things below. The overhang of cliff obstructs a better angle to find her targets, though more than that Thyr's eyes are too wary to leave the bigger beasts. Her warrior instincts seek out the biggest threat and her tongue touches her lips as though tasting the first wound in its side.

Her fingers move expectantly along the new haft of her weapon, the dappled steel weighty under her gloves but not cool enough to make the leather stick. In fact the haft is warm and it sends a pulse of heat through her arm with a heartbeart all of its own...

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Ingvar takes small steps, darting one way and then the other to confuse the beasts and their attempts to surround him.
They work well together though their spite and fury works better on prey than on another predator.

Ingvar steps and quarter-turns back into the pack, slicing the blade across a flank, cutting full length from hilt to tip and opening the creature all along, the edge seems to slice a line into its bone ribs with hardly a pause.