“Significant,” says Richard, a little breathless. Not from the fight, but from the struggle of pushing slack jaws apart in the saliva-sticky dirt, with both hands braced around a fang under the curl of the top lip, and a boot set in a gap between scooping incisors at the bottom. He’s paused to rest but holds his position, huffing and puffing, lest he lose what little progress he’s made.

“But if you only kick a few of them, the others might cheer.”