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Soft purple skin parted beneath his teeth. The plum was tart and sweet, chilled by the cold air. The first bite was savored with a low hum, for they had all the time in the world. Once he settled in for a bluster, Father's storm didn't look to be a brief sort. Not, in this case, a full hurricane, nor quite wrathful enough to uproot weaker trees. They'd need better shelter eventually, but that lay some ways off.

That said, this young woman was certainly not dressed for the weather. He'd be fine in his old cloak, and Vandrea wasn't really a different clime, but apparently it was better sheltered by that great tree. "Ah, where are my brains today. No good leaving you to the cold when I've my good cloak to keep my heat." Her 'host' didn't have anything in her size, but he had brought a rough blanket of goatswool. You never left your team without some basic supplies, after all, and exposure would kill just as surely as beast or fall. This also he took from the pack, as if you saved something, you were responsible for it. "I'm sure you can bear up, but nobody wins against the elements by themselves. Here, get some warmth back in you."

He wasn't convinced she understood, but Harakan wouldn't push it. He'd got the general idea across, surely. The taller girl didn't seem inclined much to talk. She'd let him fill most of the silence between them so far, and that suited the boisterous geian just fine. The chuckle that rolled out from his chest was, if anything, even deeper than his voice. "Believe it or not, this is the best conversation I've had in months. My master doesn't hold with idle talk on-site or scouting ahead. Leaves a body hungry for words, you know?"

The grin broadened as she took the thick wool. She seemed terribly sure of herself; he'd much rather she not die of it. At least when he could say something on the matter. Seems more interesting with her alive.

At Ahament's statement of intention, the expressions on his honest face shifted. Clear pleasant acceptance, right up until the last bit. Thus far, the smaller humanoid had been boisterous, cheerful, even in the face of a storm. Barring his oath, of course. Harakan hid little of himself from the world; it all shone through his face and the set of his form. And while her statement held no threat by itself, the set and stance of her lent it a potential menace. Thunder rumbled behind them, and found echo in his voice. "...Do I misunderstand you, Miss, or is my word suddenly not good enough?" One of the things about hospitality was that it went both ways. A poor enough guest could forfeit the courtesies and protections so offered.

"I'll not keep you from leaving; you're free as you please. However." He put hid food to the side, standing up with his staff. The geian's movements were slow and smooth, no sharpness or aggression yet, only readiness. And a pointed look to the hand on her blade. "While I don't mean to insult, if you're proposing to take my blood, you'll find it expensive." She had reach and likely skill on him, but Harakan was broad and strong from constantly scurrying about the mountainsides. And if there were any weapon with which he had some skill of his own, it would be his heavy staff.

Now there was a lot being said; she'd piled half again as many words as she had under the tree. And most of it just didn't add up. Harakan had never been particularly subtle himself. It didn't impress the sky or the stone, nor the beasts upon them, so he saw no point in it. And while he was, in the same vein, no great socialite, he'd not have come as far as he had without a knack for reading the world aound him. There were words unspoken in the air and at least a few terribly obvious facts being deliberately overlooked. The darker youth chanced a long, pointed look at the rain, now a fair downpour for the season. "Of course you realize, if I were to face the tree for a minute or two, I couldn't track you if I wanted. Not through this downpour. All you need do is ask, and you'd have an insurmountable headstart."

He'd already discounted the possibility that Ahmanet was merely stupid. For one thing, she didn't talk much, which when paired with an active gaze, he often found a decent marker for intelligence. If she wanted a brawl to warm her blood rather than an undersized cloak, he could understand. Just wish she'd out and said that. With a chuckle despite himself, the geian raised wood, stepping back and lowering his center as thick hands slipped down nearer the top. The tip made slow circles, pointed straight at the center of her collarbone. The pointed iron hiking spike could serve as a speartip, at need. Had, on one memorable occasion. Would it defend him here? They'd soon see. For now, he stepped to one side, sidling into the rain.

A thick curved blade against a wooden branch? At first glance, a poor choice for the poor sap with a stick. That was, if one forgot that bronze was not a particularly good metal for hewing stationary hardwood, let alone in mobile hands. The thing was, chopping spearhafts was a task for greatswords or other polearms. Specialized gear. In general, spears reigned amongst weapons, and a properly used quarterstaff wasn’t too far different. Had she been an earthling squaring off against this blocky-built boy, this could've been a mistake. Her height (and likely training) made up for the range, making it a more even matchup, but there was some dancing to do here if she wanted to win...

The spike had been on the whole time, but it was an easy thing to miss. He'd only gripped his staff by the wider top. Luckily, a hiking staff had the spike riveted to the bottom anyhow. In this case, by twin-pegged langets, as Harakan had needed to fend off folmar before. The way the vandrea moved reminded him a bit of those pack hunters, actually. Better to keep on the defense; she'd shred him sure as any folmar, close-in. To that end, he stepped sideways, fully out into the rain and wind.

He couldn't see Ahmanet as well in this. But then, neither could she him. The way they were facing, she'd feinted in and back, towards the tree trunk. Only natural for the tree folk, perhaps. Her opponent took two jabs, relatively light things. Each from a different angle and position as he circled around the dry shade. One towards the face when she approached, and the second at her knee when she scampered off. No need to commit to powerful blows or full lunges, as there weren't any openings as yet. They'd only just begun. For the moment, Harakan kept circling, edging further out into the storm...

The lunge triggered a backpedal, fair driving Harakan back. Two steps, three, four. You could plant and brace against a charge, but a lunge and assault was a bit too deliberate to fall for it. Instead, after the second step, he tried a trick that had worked to confuse some of the beasts out here. With the forward hand as a fulcrum, he twisted the butt of his staff about, moving it in quick, tight circles before him. It disrupted the counterjabs some, but it might have been enough to throw off her flurry. Still back, another two steps, circling, waiting for something at the heel of his boot...

Skill aside, there was a fundamental difference in their styles that came down to purpose. She was a warrior, and bent her thought upon victory. Her first thought for combat would naturally be her own honed skills and forms. He was an explorer, and set his own to survival. It went without saying that he'd seldom been on a practice field. The world about him, therefore, was of far more use than the limited tool in his hand. Some of the resources the forest offered would be considered brawling, or to less kindly language, cheating.

For example: were it drier weather, he might create distance by lobbing a stone her way, and either press the attack behind it or make his escape. An object hit his seeking boot, and the step over confirmed what it was. He'd been circling this way, having seen the wind shake it loose not long ago. A sudden stop in his retreat heralded the kick, though perhaps not the short branch it launched towards Ahmanet's thigh. It didn't need to hurt, just distract for a moment, create an opening. Whether it hit or not, he chanced a lunge himself, using the distraction...

Harakan was beginning to think he might be outmatched. And outclassed. And in over his head. One of those was the right one probably.

With his lunge knocked upwards, he did the first thing that popped into his head: shift his focus to the heavier end of his staff. Of course, in a straight lunge, there was little room for recovery, especially as she hadn't deflected it to the side. What came naturally, then, was naturally unorthodox. Firstly, a thunderous bellow rippled forth from the earthling's chest, deep and fierce. As it had been a two-handed lunge, one arm guiding and one at the end, transfering force. So he shifted that, bringing the forceful arm forward and using his guiding hand for a lever. He came in low and continued to charge into the Vandrean's personal space, shifting the heavy weapon backwards with the new momentum. The pointy end, anyway. The thicker top end, near his fist, drove with a little less force than that heavy thrust towards Ahmanet's left knuckles.

Ideally this might partially disarm her. Second best, this put something between a lot of sharp edge and his head. More likely it'd get her to back off some, as predators usually had the good sense to get out of the way when something lowered its head and charged. Didn't much matter what it was, they knew what to do about shapes. And warriors weren't too far different from hunters, were they?

All this was winding up in quick stomping steps for a heavy overhead swing. How well she'd kept her composure would likely affect how well she read his movements...

It couldn't be called a thought anymore, and no manner of question either. Harakan was definitely outmatched. As Ahmanet took one leg out from under the stouter youth, he crashed and slid facefirst into the dirt. Despite the tumble, her opponent continued moving, his momentum barely arrested. With a short grunt, he was up on one knee, spitting out a stone and a chip of tooth with it. Maybe it was the adrenaline, but the boy was already chuckling as he rose. Stung some, but it wasn't the first time he'd tasted dirt. Wouldn't be the last. Charge and shout indeed! Probably the first trick a chap might try, I shouldn't wonder. Straightforward's out, she's used to that. Get another rough learning if it's done again. Those had always been the lessons worth learning, in his opinion. Even if he made a point of avoiding their repetition.

In the young mountaineer's defense, he'd seldom needed to hit anything in serious violence. Normally he fought things a bit too big for hitting. Like, for example, this storm. Or dage. Nobody sane fought dage alone. "Shows what I know, giving up my reach." With his Vandrean sparring partner giving him a bit of room to reorient, he had a change to take in his surroundings, recall some of the details heretofore deemed unimportant. Like some of the low branches around some of the smaller trees. One or two were young yet, and springy limbs made them poor choices for climbing. No driftwood this high up, but the mud was as yet a slick layer atop firm earth...

A slightly bloody grin and Harakan turned back to the girl. Again, he took a spear like grip on his staff, and advanced diagonally to his foe. A jab at her knee, her shoulder, token moves to open. Defensive was the way to go until he had the right position. It probably wouldn't work out much better, but he had a smidge more plan in mind now.

Harakan was making for the thicket, attempting to move the field. Without experience, reading through her moves wouldn't work. And didn't. He overextended in an attempt to deflect the feint, and barely saw the followup stroke coming. The resulting drop to the ground, while letting the geian off with only a nicked shoulder, still saw him taking a roll in the mud. A bad position. But she'd stepped aside to avoid taking a hit to the knee, which allowed more room than a moment prior. For another good turn, he'd tumbled a good ways further than his feet would have taken him, and this motion provided a nice handful of storm-slicked earth to sling. A swift lob underhand, hopefully to catch her in the eye or the grip, and he was back to scrambling for the treeline.

The notions going through that thick brown skull weren't all that complicated. Mud and stone, nettle branches, cover, all valid choices in tactic. He came to his feet in a low crouch, staff-spike still pointed the taller girl's way. As his back hit branches, the broad earthling grinned. Sure they stung, and they'd sting worse yet, but he could feel the springiness ready to snap forward once allowed. His back was to something, which might well be a lure to a proper warrior to press the attack.

…Should this be the case, he'd press back and let the branches have their fun, scraping up his tunic and whipping past him and towards her. Green living wood, even softwoods like the local varieties, were tough to cut with the appropriate tools. And just as with his hardwood staff, the vandrean's chosen weapons were not built to attack trees. However sharp bronze blades were, thick sap would build on the edges and the wood itself round or blunt sections with each cut. Ahmanet wouldn't go in for wild swings, but whatever would interfere with proper swings was good for her opponent.

Should it not, and Ahmanet not take the bait, he'd make use in another way, leaning back and then relaxing to springboard forward in a leap, staff angled towards guarding his body. An unexpected flight might hope to catch her in a less trippable tackle…