I'm a match, she's kerosene

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The brothers had not ventured far from the Grotto, not yet. Whether it was because something __kept__ them here or because the two had simply not decided to move on yet was unclear, but the reason mattered not. The fact of the matter was that, for the moment, this was their territory, their spot, their swatch of land. The expansive and twisting set of ice caves was something Stjornuati found an odd sort of peace within. He had undoubtedly left its shelter to hunt and explore, but there was something here, something whispering his name, drawing him back within its caverns. This, he knew, was the hringja. 

Perhaps today, he would learn of its intentions, maroon eyes narrowing as he watched the woman exit his cave. Fur bristling and posture stiff in thinly veiled warning, Stjornuati leapt down from the cxrest of the cavern's mouth, landing just in front of her. Teeth bared, ears back against his skull, the vikingr gave her the mercy of moments to explain herself.
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Her words mattered little to him, less than her growls did. A snap of teeth came close to her face, a punctuated sound that resonated with the pair still so close to the caves. The fire-born female was trespassing on the temporary claim he and @Solpallur had made by simply using this as their home base. Still, her words, the bit of them, reminded him lightly of his sister, eyes raking over her for a moment before he took a single, purposeful step towards her.
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She was quick to move, an ember that abruptly combusted into something larger, something that burned wickedly as she surged forward to score her teeth across the hard and taut muscle of his shoulder. Surprise flickered through him, the reminder of @Valmúa stronger than ever, especially as he moved to retaliate. No wolf, woman or not, would strike him unanswered. Twisting, the male used his height to his advantage, grabbing her scruff with his teeth to shove her to the ground and pin her there, the low rumble of his growl still his only communication.
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The ember-furred woman was no simple flame, he found; she was a blaze, an inferno that sought to consume him for his transgressions. Her struggles went mostly ignored, releasing her scruff only to replace the hold of his teeth with the weight of his body, making sure to pull his face away from the slice of her teeth. And still, she did not relent, drawing a new rumble from the golden crested male, though it was no growl and instead a low, amused laugh. 

Quickly, he released her and put space between them, snarl giving way to a smirk as Stjornuati lowered his head to protect his throat. “Komdu, litli eldspýtan. — Come, little spitfire.” Stjornuati did not care that she would not understand him, simply looking to entice her rage further. “Leyfðu okkur að sjá hvað þú getur gert. — Let us see what you can do.”
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The crash of their skulls together did indeed leave him dazed, just enough that she was allowed time to grab at his neck with her teeth, the pain of a puncture or two making him hiss his displeasure. He had asked for it, of course, asked for her rage, her teeth, her anger. It was a release he hadn't known he'd been seeking, picking a fight with the little spitfire in a way he would not have picked with Solpallur. Now that he was engaged in it, however, Stjornuati found the situation amusing. Enjoyable, even. 

Her tugs did little to displace them. Rather, they normally would not have, but the raven-friend found himself indulging the woman, letting her grapple him to the ground and putting up little fight as she did... whatever she wanted to do. That smirk never left his face, either.
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Her anger was both fascinating and terrible, her flame bright and intense without fizzling under the weight of his antagonizing antics. It was when he was below her, pressed into the cold ground with paws that were far too dainty to keep him there, that something low in his gut twisted and churned. The feeling was not foreign to the man, nor did it surprise him, what with her dull claws pressing into his throat and flank, the promise of violence so fresh and blatant in the air. He played along, too, until he felt the shift in her weight, her back paw digging in as she reached.

There.

In the blink of an eye, the gilded male rolled them, reaching up to grab her by the throat and pull her off her feet. In the same movement, Stjornuati rolled to his own, teeth pressing just so into the hollow where her jaw and neck met while he stood over her, paws braced on either side of the little spitfire. Here, he had her at a disadvantage, and while he was enjoying their scuffle, there was no longer a wish to harm her. Not right now, anyway.
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There was a moment, still and quiet, where he thought she might succumb, might bend to his dominance; he was surprised to find himself disappointed. Was her fire so easily extinguished?

No.

@Valmúa would like her, he knew as soon as she kicked out, aiming for his groin in the same way his sister had once. His reaction was swift, releasing her throat and moving off of her in a quick and easy movement, his feral, toothy grin betraying his thoughts. Yes, he quite liked her, and her hellacious attitude. 

A low, rumbling laugh left him as he sat back on his haunches, mirth glittering in that dark gaze as he watched her. What now, little spitfire?
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His laugh deepened at her touch, aiming a nip both corrective and suggestive to her haunch. The spitfire slid free, for now. There was no doubt that Stjornuati wanted to see her again, though he would not pursue her now. Not this time. 

For now, the male resorted to licking his wounds as best he could, pleased with himself.
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