Page 7 - Demo

follows through with a knee in the face and then raises his fist for the finish, but the guy drops to the ground, out cold.
Wi and Rongo have the boiling warrior blood of their Ngáti Pikiao ancestors coursing through their hulking six foot three frames. They don’t need finesse when it comes to a good old fashioned brawl. They walk forward, like a pair of male elephants driving a pathway through the jungle, relentless, and pummelling anything in their way. Soon, I notice the recipients of their attentions scattered on the ground, bodies in disarray, arms and feet at odd angles, and they look like a bunch of unwanted puppets ready for the scrap heap. Others look terrified, of the marauding duo, they drop to the ground and curl up on the spot, too scared to face the wrath of the burly twins.
Not to be outdone the girls enter the fray. They have a good understanding of the finer points of street fighting. I see my Little One - guy with crowbar in two hands, raises his arms for the smash, her foot swings up,