Viktor, of course, was no fighter, in spite of his strength training as an athlete. Turning four rotations in midair? No problem. But a choke hold? He wouldn't have stood a chance.
Before Heero could lay a hand on him, though, a blur of talons and feathers put itself between them, flaring it's wings and clawing at his outstretched arm with an enraged shriek. The griffin from the lake settled on Viktor's left shoulder, and snapped at the offending hand until it retreated.
"There's no need for violence," Viktor said in accented English, flashing a cheerful smile. The griffin was only ten days old, but there was nothing wrong with his talons or his beak, which was designed for shredding meat. Viktor raised one eyebrow, his expression passive and, apparently, unconcerned. "I thought you might need help, but if you'd prefer to be left alone, I'll be on my way. But I wouldn't try that again."
Dom punctuated that remark with an agitated chitter.
He whistled for Makkachin, calling her in Russian, and turned to leave.