Sol let out a heavy breath, wiping a thick streak of black boar gore from his cheek with the back of his hand.
He looked down at the massive, twitching four-ton carcass beneath his bare feet, then turned his gaze toward the edge of the pond where Zephyra stood watching.
"Barbaric?" Sol chuckled, as he rolled his shoulders, the dense muscles along his upper back cracking with a sound.
"Coming from a high shaman who is watching a man fight buck-naked in the dirt, with such an excited expression, I'll take that as high praise.
Though I would have appreciated a stick, instead of you focusing on my stick, so I didn't had to dirty my hands, after all I just took a bath."
Zephyra's smirk widened slightly, her blind, milky eyes reflecting the pale moonlight. "Weapons are for the weak. A weapon would only slow you down.
The ancestors carved men to tear beasts apart with their hands, didn't they? And where can I watch such a pure display of human power.
