Can you feel the dread

At least in these moments, still reeling and raw from the loss and the pain and all things strange, Björn isn't much fun. Muscles flexing, surging forward. Barely hanging on to the threads of his mind, and enjoying himself far too much. "I know only blood," Björn snarls. Shoulders rolling forward, blood dripping down his face. Covering his face and dripping down his forequarters, he's living for it.

Let the stranger have his side, he doesn't give a shit. Björn would take the hit in stride, using the close quarters to his advantage. Throwing his weight at the lighter man, he drops the whip. Let it be a hazard on the field, one that he's more familiar with than any. Despite his weight, Björn is light on his feet. Driving himself at the man, striking blindly with his antlers as he does.

"Björn"