The grass bowed and straightened, bowed and straightened to the wind. The blackness of the earth beneath made for nice contrast with the green, tiring the eye somewhat (or perhaps the flash that came earlier is to blame? Who knows...). A sweet melody sang to this - that of the fight-hungry Kamertonis. Faint screams tore through the peaceful sound of the split-bladed weapon, not unlike those that came from beneath his own feet - the grass bellowed in protest as his foot rested on it. Someone else was here, then.

Leaven traced the ocean of grass, careful not to lose sight of it, right around to a dark figure standing in the field of green. He gripped the ribbon-ornate hilt with his left hand, and the Kamertonis obediently slid out from its sheath, making a stifled wail in the gust of wind that followed. Ah, it is so eager...

He rested the dull part of the blade, right above the hilt, on his shoulder, and began advancing at the heavily-armoured figure before him. Pre-battle taunts are great, but a circular arrow wound right on his throat did wonders to prevent him from speaking anything louder than a whisper.