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Life within Avalon was a peaceful change of pace. It was something to get used to, a vast difference from the life he used to live within Fireside's borders. Corbie was a fair and kind alpha, welcoming in even loners who had lost their homes and without demanding service from them. While Tyrfing's first instinct at an intruder on the border was to intercept, the livestock keeping alpha was more inclined to offer them help, safety, security. He knew it would be an adjustment for him to learn to change his own mindset and emulate her, to act in the way she expected one of her wolves to in such a situation. A part of him missed the chaos and the violence - he'd likely never raid again, at least, not as an aggressor - but another part was quickly settling into the pride of having something to protect. He would no longer fit terms like 'thief' or 'assailant', his role was to defend those who could not defend themselves. It was an honorable calling, a path he hoped would one day lead him to Valhalla.

In patrolling the border he kept all these thoughts and more in mind, setting himself to the goal of change with the same obsessive perfectionism he approached all else in life. The more he repeated his new life to himself internally, the less chance his instinct would take over and drive him to aggression should he come across someone he once would consider an intruder in need of punishing. Thankfully Corbie was never far from home and should the situation arise where he felt he wasn't sure a stranger was welcome or not, she was only a short call away.

His thoughts were pulled from the patrol as a new scent crossed his nose, unmistakably feline. Fireside Tyrfing would have banded a few wolves together to find it, find it's den and eliminate all traces of it's existence from anywhere near his territory. Avalon Tyrfing was conflicted. They'd just welcomed in a horse to their pack - what if this cat was friendly, too? Following the trail with a begrudgingly open mind, Tyrfing advanced.

He caught sight of the creature slinking outside the border, its eye (or nose) most likely upon the distant herd. From the way it's crouched form slunk forward, it's striped tail lashing he assumed it was in hunting mode. Strike one against friendly feline. "Those belong to us." The warrior asserted to the tiger's flank, muscles tensing to prepare for confrontation. He had done his due diligence in giving the other-species the offer of conversation just like the horse had been offered, and should it refuse to take it (or prove to stupid to converse) then the viking had free reign to defend his pack and his herd.

The tiger spun with a start, lips peeling back to reveal the thick row of fangs within as it snarled and growled it's reply. Strike two against friendly feline. Tyrfing straightened, giving his own barest of snarls and flashing his crystalline sabres in a threat of his own. It did not take much more to initiate the brawl, the tiger's coiled form elongating in one lithe movement as it leaped. Strike three, time to take the not-so-friendly feline down.

Fin was forced to move quickly, throwing himself abruptly to the side to dodge the powerful pounce that had been aimed toward him. The tiger's claws tore rivets through the grass and dirt as it landed clear of him, it's rear end pivoting around in a graceful turn to face Fin once more. The wolf took the opportunity to launch an assault of his own, lunging forward with jaws parted and teeth bared in an attempt to grab for the tender striped wrist before the tiger could retaliate in kind. The creature was larger then him, heavier then him, likely stronger then him. He'd need to wear it down slowly and at worst, convince it that this pack was not worth the effort to raid.

His teeth tore through the flesh of the wrist - his roughened sabres puncturing clean through the tendon there - but Fin could not maintain his hold long. Another paw was already flying, the cat's claws aiming fast to damn near take his head right off. Ducking below the blow, Fin threw himself forward toward the injured cat's chest. It was a dangerous move and placed the back of his skull directly in range to be bitten and crushed by those massive jaws, but it was also an attack the tiger was not likely used to. That, combined with the horns protruding from his head, emboldened the viking. In one firm crunch he had taken the cat's windpipe in his teeth, feeling his sabres slip behind and through the cartilage there and with a hard toss of his head, lacerating the artery entirely. The cat had begun to retaliate, but it's death came quickly. The flailing paws did not hit hard nor fast enough to cause serious damage, merely beating lifelessly against Tyrfing's shoulders as his jaws squeezed the remainder of life from it's form.

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