He was not angry. In fact, he was ecstatic - ask and ye shall receive and all that. He never thought God would throw him a bone and send not one but two major names on his own shit list, but here they were. First there was Blueblood and now this thestral. A part of him, an old part, worried away at the back of his mind like a dog chewing on an old piece of rope, concerned at Handy's worrying change of perspective. She had cursed him, true, but was he really looking forward to violently assaulting a woman? Gleeful, even, at the prospect? He quashed the thought, but not without some trouble. This was a tournament after all, a fight. He had already overcome this hang-up when it had been necessary before, and he would do it again if he had to. Considering the crime this thestral had done to him, he would certainly do it now.