The strike was low, fast, and accurate. Even as Isifo had begun to shift his weight to deal a heavy, swinging blow, the Firekin female was tipping the scales. The entirety of his mass was pushed over his center, and before he could understand what was happening, Isifo's feet were leaving from under his body.
His shoulder was taking the brunt of a dune of sand. Isifo rolled out the last of the momentum. There, lying with one side in the sand, he grunted.
"Good," his thick accent spoke. "Done." He meant he was done, of course. Any more, and she'd be able to make a doormat out of his corpse.
oo DeD
(( Points for suckiest Firekin of the month: Isifo! ))
