Pâsh is standing against a wall, leaning on it as he mutters under his breath in an irritated tone and sharpens his metal throwing spears. At some point in his muttering, he notices his rival standing there and glares at them, his unburned eye narrowed as he stares at his hated rival, unable to do anything about his anger because he knows for sure that they can easily beat him in combat

Whaddyu want.