The Silver Fang Tyrant's jaws parted, drool dripping down in copious strands that glistened under the harsh mountain light. Its hungry gaze locked onto Aelorin, a predator toying with its prey. Each paw pressed firmly into the rocky ground, claws scraping and digging with a tentative choice between pouncing now or savoring the tension a bit longer.
Aelorin held his sword tightly, both hands gripping it with a resolve that only barely masked his underlying uncertainty. He had no real idea how strong the beast was, and if he wasn't careful, he might land himself a wound he couldn't easily heal. He steadied himself, eyes narrowed.
"Alright, big guy," he muttered under his breath, sizing up the wolf's glistening silver fangs. "You go first… so I can study all your moves before I wipe the floor with you."