The broad orc did not fair nearly so well as the lithe elf. It seemed as if every turn he made there was another draw of blood from a the cats' claws on him. He had a high resilience for pain, especially in the heat of battle, but the stinging and clawing red was making him angry. The ferocity shown clearly in the way he moved and the more brutal he became in his fighting.

Durotan would swing his axe with one hand, grab and pull and choke with his spare hand, and punt with either foot. What he lacked utterly in finesse as his unlikely comrade had in leaps in bounds, quite literally, Durotan made up for in strength and dogged perseverance. The next cat who lunged for him was grabbed by the tail and gutted down the middle, then swung into the another cat that was leaping for the elf. This caused a grotesque spray of blood down half of Durotan's body, but that only fueled his lust for battle even higher.

He gave another bellowing roar as he lunged bodily at the same cat he had just knocked backwards, wrestling it to the ground and crushing its head in one clenched hand. Even still, the desperate cats were not through and he felt one land on his back, claws sinking in to his shoulders.