gloria fortis miles

Was Lorikeet perhaps making it difficult to focus on the bear at hand? Yes. Was Víðarr complaining? No, not in the slightest. Still, his ears were still ringing after taking a good whack from the bear. Hard pressed to wipe the grin from his face, he continues his assault on the bear. There was no slowing, no surrendering. As the bear rounded on Lorikeet, Víðarr took the opening.

Opening in the form of hamstringing the bear. His teeth sunk into the creature's flesh, feeling his teeth sink through its coat and into something deeper. Finding purchase, digging in, holding. Holding on as tightly as he can, sinking his weight over his hind legs. Víðarr is fighting for control over the situation, fighting for control over the creature that flailed and snarled within his jaws. In his periphery, he catches the cat, antlers similar to its master. Víðarr rather likes cats, and it seems that cat people (wolves?) were rather... his kind of people. Yes, it would do to have more domestic cats around the mountain. He liked that idea.

Right, the bear. Víðarr continued to tug backwards, dragging the bear off balance as he did. Well on his way to toppling the predator, and well on their way to coming out of this victorious.

"Víðarr"