I don't need saving!

The behemoth fell.

Another kick dislodged its massive limb from Iarlaith's grasp and he, gracelessly, stumbled back several paces before recovering himself with an annoyed huff. Eyes narrowed into venomous slits, he released deep growl, fangs bared and bloodied. It looked like "little" miss had heard his warning: at least, she'd managed to get clear before the dire wolf went down. Iarlaith danced from paw-to-paw, ready for another assault—or to run away—if needed.

It proved an unnecessary measure.

The dire wolf snarled, gathering its limbs back under itself with some effort. Its head whipped between the pair who'd managed to topple it. It—no, he—spoke in brusque, difficult syllables. Words garbled and thickly-accented, it barked, "Brave,", muzzle swinging first toward the female, then to the male, "or foolish." He snorted, not bothering to elaborate, disdain in every word. The dire didn't seem to be a fool, or knew when he was beaten. He rose to his paws, jaws snapping with a click in the female's direction, though with no intent to maim or assault, rather a warning: back off.

Iarlaith recoiled, brows shooting up. The dire was on his paws, giant bounds taking it over the snow far more easily than Iarlaith's own legs could, away from the pair of wolves. Bloody trees for legs! Seriously. Massive. The only thing more satisfying would have been if his tail had been between his legs… but Iarlaith could make do. At least it looked like the monster had a slight limp, and blood trailed behind it, small, glistening drops sinking into the snow.

Once he was sure the brute wasn't coming back, he snorted. Blood—not his—flew from his nose. Gross. He chortled, though his heart was still pounding and the after-battle jitters were sinking in something fierce. "Serves the bloody brute right!" Oh, but… he wasn't exactly alone, now was he? Yeah, he'd been on a rescue mission. Speaking of… he turned toward the lady, orange eyes flashing as he cocked a grin.

"You okay?"

"Speech"