If he were in a more fit state, if this were any other sort of contest, they may have been more evenly matched. Jackson would have been able to evade the tackle and leave the other eating dirt for his efforts with an ease bordering on instinct. But this wasn't the lacrosse field. And Jackson was operating on a whole different instinct.

He crashed to the forest floor. Head and back colliding with gnarled roots with enough force that a human may have struggled to recover. For him, it was just the shock of pain he needed. He stopped fighting. The snarl faded from his face, though he remained transformed. At least for a moment. It was only with some effort that his face looked more human, but his eyes remained blue.

"Who the hell are you!?" he demanded, confusion creeping over the anger.