And without a further thought, and with that hell-creature (ok, maybe it wasn't that dangerous, but anything for the homeland) a lot farther away than anticipated, good job to the team, I ran further. The sand below the feet kicked up, another pair of eyes, or maybe two pairs, glancing at me, I probably looked manic. And with a scream of youthly hope, I jumped from the ground, and as if to reach the heavens the fin pointed towards, I went far, onto the side of the beast. Claws sharp as ever, pointed at the scales, and one hung on, the feet dug into scales, hanging on, the other claw, the left, pierced. Into flesh, a familiar red fog released into water, and into my face.
Pulled the limb out of the flesh. Another spot, few inches away, dug it back in. Those who watched later described my face as almost cracked, to attack what had once hunted the child I still felt like in that moment. And I kept going, until hearing a further, louder scream, it was enough, thing was fleeing, the beast was over with, get off of the damn thing before it brings you and loses you! And so, I released the dug-in legs and the claws, and a slow descent back to the ground. Training led to that gift, to almost float back down to the ground instead of feeling thrown back there.
A questionable, but effective method. That is what the leader described my actions, as we all hurried back, and my frame almost lagging behind from newfound levels of exhaustion. But they still thought it was a very special method, an effective one at least, to almost dig holes until one such as that wildermonster of a fish knew that this place was not for them. After all, Sugarteara was sacred.