Ferron's mind clicked on as he watched his opponent from, now, sevn yards. His opponents upper body was okay, but the way he positioned himself told Ferron that he was more capable than he was attempting to let on. Either way, the killer would play along. 

[b]"So, you really did come here to train? Well, what better way than to fight someone whose sole intention is to harm you?"[/b] A glimpse of a smile flashed across his face. With his hands out to his side, his fists finger side out, arms angled diagonally from the body, his brawling style was still in effect. It was a style that allowed for more unpredictable, and powerful, blows, but displayed obvious weaknesses when it came to defending against them. 

The first course was action was to get in the optimal strike zone, twenty one feet not being nearly close enough. The brawling stlye worked best in an in fight, basically face to face. He edged closer, his goal was to get within a few feet of the man who deemed himself Martin, and who was resigned to the fact he was going to lose some teeth. 

BAsed on the look of his opponents arms, he was capable of reaching at least two feet away from his body to connect with a hit. Three feet was his goal then. Step after step, he slowly made his way forward - prepared to stop and defend as needed, or launch an attack if his opponent tried to rush towards him.