In the end, he didn't have to fell him.

For a few seconds the pair of them loped across the ground, Monster clearly leading the charge and Mauja not wanting to get left behind - then all of a sudden, those black hind legs slid in under his body, breaking, and Mauja did the same. Gray ash stained his fetlocks and he watched his volatile pet with a mixture of wariness and awe. Who was this mindless beast, who obeyed a simple tug of a rope without questioning, who had labeled the snowbeast Master and now wished to please him, follow his every whim? The near-sad confusion in his once again dormant eyes as he asked no drip drop? He recognized the words. Three times he'd heard them; the first time it had heralded an attack on his own person, the second time this headlong charge, and now it was a question. It had to mean violence, and apart from obedience, it seemed to be the only thing he understood. "No drip drop," he agreed, mind spinning. How to explain it? How to talk with a rope in your mouth, afraid to relax the clamped muscles in case it be torn from your grip and something destructive unleashed upon your home?

"This scent? Friends." He breathed in deep through wide nostrils, and motioned with his horn towards the trees. "No drip drop." He would not let him harm his family, his Edge, and his mind was racing with possibilities - possibilities he couldn't focus on, because of a much too familiar scent being much too close. Snö. What was she doing here? He groaned around the rope. It clearly wasn't good enough that he was a fool and had brought a unpredictable stallion into his home, but fate had to throw his daughter in its path! "No drip drop," he warned, tightening his grip on the rope as he slid around the dusty black body, positioning himself between Monster and his daughter, who just pranced into view from behind a tree. Mauja looked worn in the sunrise, light filtering down to shimmer in his wary, tired eyes. Still, the sight of her form brought warmth to his gaze, and a deep whicker rumbled in his chest. Fondly he stepped forward to bump his muzzle against her head, the rope hanging like a black ugly thing from the corner of his mouth. At the other end, was Monster.

"What's that?" No idea probably wouldn't suffice for an answer, and he frowned. It was the truth, though. He didn't have a single bloody clue as to what it was, but it tasted foul, of earth and sweat and blood, things long dead. Tendrils of it had come loose and lay in his mouth, itching, tickling, but he wasn't about to let go of it in the vicinity of his beloved daughter. "A tengill," he growled around the rope with a certain air of carelessness, as if he was certain of it. Tengill wasn't even a word in the language of this realm, but that wouldn't stop him from calling it that. It was the best he could do, really, and he threw a sideways glance at Monster. What was he going to do now? What would Snö do if he told her to stand there and watch him dance with the devil? What if he broke free and attacked if Mauja let go of the leash? Could he perhaps pin it under his hoof, and keep the bond through that physical contact? Did he have to charm him with words? Would Snö disapprove if she saw him try to train the creature, or would she, too, find it fascinating? What would others say? His pet had never shown any indication of wanting anything but to fight, so letting him roam Helovia wasn't an option...

( ALL MAKT ÅT TENGIL, VÅR BEFRIARE! "All hail Tengil, our savior". )