Orcus
The gleaming tip cut past the ends of Mira's air, whistling in her ears, and her elbow landed with a satisying thud. He tried to lean away, but she felt the slam against his sternum and the recoil of his torso and knew that trauma would surely mark it.
But his deft footwork, in motion the instant she stepped within his guard, carried his stance over the push aimed to unmake his balance. Anyone who saw Orcus's body, any master who felt his breathing would expect his power to be direct and sharp, explosive and unbent, and to respond to harm the same way. But he flowed like water, a half-moon out from Mira's elbow, tightly, smoothly, twisting his lance to whip the blunt end of the haft like a crashing wave at her head.
The primal's intact wing, spread out like a fan, reared up at the same time.