<div class="floatleft">(http://i1113.photobucket.com/albums/k512/MissF1R3/ReiGBev_zpsp3pziuf9.jpg)</div><strong>Name:</strong>Lark Enciel<br/><strong>Location:</strong>Emerald Forest<br/><strong>Tagging:</strong>Olive<br/><br/><em>"Right behind you!"</em>called Lark as Olive turned and raised his shield.<br/><br/>When he next glanced back, she was gone. Typical. A sudden breeze rushed by, trailing a rainbow of colors. Lark rushed headlong into the pack of boar-like Grimm that surrounded them. Her fighting style was erratic and unusual. She weaved, dodged, spun into kicks, jumped, flipped, rolled and kicked out. It looked like some kind of odd dance while drunk. It was hard to follow her movements and hard to judge what she would do from one thing to the next. A trained fighter could usually tell what someone else was about to do. A subtle sway of balance, a widening of stance, a twitch of limb or muscle, even eye movement, all dead giveaways. From the outside it might look like the white-haired girl was just randomly flailing. To a practiced eye, Lark, however, just seemed to 'go'. She flowed from one thing to the next like a river with no set course, just adapting to the landscape. It was controlled chaos.<br/><br/><em>"I'll be damned if I'm not going to fight some Grimm today!"</em>she said with a grunt as she whirled into a straight kick with a blast from her boots that sent a boarbatusk hurling through the air end-over-end. The impact the blow made sounded heavy, like it had some real heft behind it. Lark's aura was still shining. It became clear that she was constantly shifting her weight as she fought, using her semblance to add heft at the end of every blow and then changing course to allow her to move swiftly again after it was over. It was a constant back-and-forth shifting of weight, while juggling the overly complex and showy fighting style that she'd adapted. She was doing pretty well, all things considered. She was rapidly getting closed in on, though, as Grimm moved to box her in.