(OOC: Last three posts carried over from Narim)

Demetri:

As a child, Demetri had been raised only by his mother, and under the constant care of his mother, he had learned to appreciate and respect women, usually more so than he did men. He was not himself, of course. For one thing, he had not taken the herbs provided by Lyra, so during the night he had been plagued by memories of the fateful night of leaving his mother to her death or imprisonment and even more dreams of her crawling from the ground and covered with maggots. He was extremely irritable when he did not have his sleep inducing medicine.

All meaningless conversation was useless. Always. When there was no need for words than words should not be spoken. People should speak only when they had something important to say. His mother had always told him that he had one mouth, and two ears; listen twice as much as you speak. To speak when there was not any point in speaking was being foolish and it was a waste of breath.

If he enjoyed these women’s company, he would have treated them with more respect. He was being paranoid, but he had every right to be paranoid. Both of them were full of lies and he wouldn’t doubt it if they’re mission to Nijon was not a benevolent one as Lyra stated that it was.

"Y'know, friend," The boyish woman began. "You're lucky I'm such a nice woman. A remark like that could get you in real trouble with someone less kind and generous than myself." Demetri almost laughed at hearing that, only a small smirk coming to his face as he watched her crack her knuckles. If that was her attempt at being intimidating, than someone was doing a horrible job."A remark like that to the wrong woman could entice her to abandon meaningless feminine attempts at conversation in favor of an overwhelming desire to knock your nuts into your nostrils."

Threats got nowhere with Demetri, and the same silent coldness was the only in-verbal remark that could be seen coming from him. "But! Despite what my companion might tell you, I have excellent social skills, and generally don't resort to violence until the second remark like that." He was wondering if he should come up with another insult just so that he could kill them and have no more worries, but before he could say anything, Myrnal continued."First one is a freebie, because I'm so wonderfully giving. I'm veritably hemorrhaging generosity over here. Don't waste it by being an ass unless you want to be told to your face that's what you are."

In all fairness, Demetri believed that the Myrnal was putting up a large fair of breath on him. He had already started to ignore her; she said nothing important enough except useless threats.

Lyra placed a hand on Myrnal's forearm, "Forget it, Myrnal. It's going to be a long journey... perhaps longer than we imagined." She spoke gently but firmly. "And this isn't worth the energy spent." At least Lyra had some common sense. He wasn’t at all in the mood for a fight, however who was ever in the mood to fight except lunatics and fools?

"I am glad that you are so." The woman could control himself, he would give her that, but behind those blue eyes, he knew. He looked away from her and to the outside. He had had enough of useless chit chat for now. Perhaps when they said something interesting or another threat, would he give them attention; whether his reaction would be hostile or genial.

"I am Nijonese," she smiled, "That fact doesn't escape most people. I have been away from Nijon for almost a decade and thought it was time for me to return to my homeland. I have family and business to see to.  Myrnal is my retainer. It is her responsibility to keep me safe." He had seen Nijonese before in his time at Narim, however the ones he had seen were usually men and a little rougher than the delicate woman before him. It had been a mistake to overlook that fact. Although, it felt wrong, what she said. Something that Demetri could not quite place at first.

Softly but clearly, Altair said, “I have heard about your country Miss Lyra and I go to it now, to see it with my own eyes. I have seen many things, marvelous cities and Nijon is one place I have yet to step foot in,” Demetri knew that that remark was a lie. Some places were better left unseen and Demetri had a feeling that Altair’s reason for going to Nijon was a little darker.

And as Lyra and Altair exchanged conversation, Demetri drifted into his own memories. Of Narim, of his original home, of what it would be like to go back. He wanted to try to find his mother, but instead he always found himself being pulled in the wrong direction. Maybe it was high time he put a foot down and take charge of his life.

Lyra pulled him from his thoughts, and wearily, Demetri looked over to her,"Perhaps you would be so kind as to allow us a name we can refer to you by. Honestly, it's slightly odd referring to you mentally as 'the human male' and 'the half-elf'." Then with a playful smile, "It doesn't even have to be real. Just allow us a point of reference." She yawned, and after a moment of silence, Demetri spoke.

“Demetri Ferrinex.” Simply put and simply executed. No hint of hostility or anger behind his voice.


Myrnal:

It was nice not having to talk.

For some reason, the gods had often cursed Myrnal with travelling companions who seemed completely incapable of conversing without her prodding, and Myrnal found the idea of being the center of polite company more than a little horrifying. She wasn't qualified for that kind of sneaking.

However, Minshara seemed to be doing just fine. She and the calmer of the two men seemed to be getting along all right, and Myrnal had done her job with Demetri. The sullen young man had been driven back onto his heels and out of the conversation for now. Rather than continuing to chat after being shoved back on the defensive, he chose to stare out the window, speaking only when spoken to directly.

Good. Jackass. Let him have a good long sulk. Myrnal saw it as a good sign. She doubted she'd have been able to get such a petty and resentful reaction from him if he were a polished, well-trained assassin sent to take out Minshara or herself. She knew plenty of mercenaries, and the ones who worried her were never prone to sulking. They were friendly, they were jovial. They got to know their target and got close before eventually striking.

Myrnal strongly doubted this Demetri was capable of such subtlety. Maybe on the battlefield he could handle himself with dignity and composure, but in the brief struggle for conversational dominance Demetri had clearly been eaten alive by a petite Nijonese healer.

Eh. Keep an eye on the one with manners, then. I don't mind him so much, which is either a very good sign or a very bad one. Demetri? Well...

It seemed to Myrnal that if these men were enemies, the quiet and courteous one was, if anything, likely the brains of the operation. He was controlled, and he was composed. She pitied him briefly for his sad fate, for being the one cursed to be holding Demetri's leash.

She wondered briefly if her relationship with Minshara seemed that way to them. She smiled inwardly at the thought. It was probably best, though. For one thing, it was largely true. Myrnal went where Min went and for now Min's priorities were hers. Perhaps more importantly it created a professional distance between physician and guardian that was more than a little comforting. If that was all it was, that's all it had to be.

Myrnal cautioned herself mentally against writing this job off as nothing more than what it seemed, though. Her talent for careful repression had come back to bite her in the ass at least once. She'd once travelled with a man who slipped entirely beneath her notice, who had started off as a mild annoyance and eventually become more important to her than her own life. To top it all off, she hadn't even realized it until he'd left to live or die on a mission he felt was his alone.

She would have to be careful. Myrnal was not a heartless or cruel woman by any measure. She wasn't cold. She wasn't hateful or resentful. Most of all she was not the kind of woman who relished a life alone, lurking in the shadows. She appreciated company and the comfort that came with understanding and acceptance. It had simply seldom been safe to accept those things into her life, even though they might do her a world of good.

For Min's safety and her own, the job came first, friendship second. If that left Minshara "holding her leash" then so be it. If it wasn't the truth, with careful vigilance and a little willpower, Myrnal hoped that it would be.


Altair:

Altair paused as Lyra asked for his name. She had clearly stated that it didn’t matter if the name he offered was false which led him to wonder if her name was indeed Lyra and not something else. And if it was merely a moniker she chose, it was fairly obvious that her purpose in Nijon were far more symbolical than what she declared.

Still, it mattered little to Altair. He shall call her by whatever name she chooses for herself and the same went for her retainer, the sharp tongued female named Myrnal. Occasional he caught her staring daggers at Demetri but that may just be imagination on his part. The lithe young woman was no doubt a capable warrior, judging from the way she spoke and carried herself.

The air was thick with uncertainty and both women eyed them with suspicion and caution while Demetri did the same. Whatever their reasons were, it must be substantial enough to rally their paranoia. Yet, Altair knew that if faced in a similar situation, where the person in front of him was a potential enemy, his every action would be forced and not this casual.

If the women did turn out to be spies or assassins, they will be dealt with quickly, but at the moment, neither presented a palpable threat which begged for attention. Subtlety was the key here and Altair was more than comfortable being in this position.

A thousand names flooded his mind and he waded through each one, attempting to locate something suitable to give to Lyra.

Angelus, Christian, Erik, Dante…

“Altair,” he said, “My name is Altair and it is a pleasure to meet you, Miss Lyra, and your retainer as well,”

No matter how he tried, he can never be called by another name. His name bore the significance his mother accorded him and everyday he bears that name, he honors her memory and that is something Altair, can never relinquish.

The journey was smooth, albeit for a few rough moments. Soon, they will enter the Quegan jungle and the dense foliage will sprawl about them. He knew the dangers of the Quegan, of the many races that now make this unconquerable land their home.

Orcs and goblins and Spiders and more often than not, something in between.

“I do hope the both of you can fight,” Altair said, “We will be entering the Quegan soon enough and I doubt we will have a pleasant journey throughout. Orcs and Goblins litter every nook and cranny and it is best we are on our guard at all times,”

“I do hope the both of you can fight,” Altair had said, “We will be entering the Quegan soon enough and I doubt we will have a pleasant journey throughout. Orcs and Goblins litter every nook and cranny and it is best we are on our guard at all times.”

Myrnal had no special problems with orcs or goblins, for obvious reasons. While orcs often deserved the bad reputation they carried, many goblins were decent enough folk. No worse than any other race, and certainly no worse than Myrnal herself.

She would manage. Myrnal didn't consider herself a whirlwind of death and ninja stealth, but she got by. There were people better than she was at many of the things she did, but she had yet to meet a warrior who embraced death as willingly as Myrnal herself did. Her life was a mess of guilt and broken expectations, and the careless disregard she had for herself had, ironically enough, kept her alive far longer than she probably deserved.

In this her master had told her she had more Nijon in her than most outsiders. She didn't care much for herself as an individual. She needed a goal to give her efforts meaning, but she seldom had one. She was a knight without a quest, an idealist without hope.

She didn't generally enjoy the way things turned out in her life, but she was human and she carried the bullheaded tenacity of her race. She would get her job done because it was worth doing. This one time she had a chance to shed blood for a reason. She would kill as always, but she would not be killing to steal or to avenge wrongs she could not erase. This time she would kill to protect, to defend.

She excused herself from Minshara briefly to send a short letter back to Tarsis. Myrnal clipped the front page from a dated journal she bought on the street. On the back she wrote, "All's fine," and signed it M.S. She sent the terse message on to Papilonn, her duty to report back fulfilled. No sense in giving the madame more information than necessary. The risk was too great that the note would be intercepted, or that Papilonn might not be entirely trustworthy. Myrnal couldn't precisely justify her distrust of the woman who'd hired her to protect Minshara, but Papilonn's instructions had made it clear Minshara would not trust anyone affiliated with her. Bad sign. Anyone who made Myrnal suspicious by association required some care in handling.

She returned with a curt nod to their largely-unwelcome travelling companions. Demetri was pissing her off slightly less now that lines had been drawn, and his somewhat cannier friend had actually not done anything too heinous. Altair seemed relatively inoffensive, which was the highest praise most of the world got from Myrnal. He certainly wasn't a friend or even an acquaintance, but he wasn't an outright pain either. Yet.

Speaking of pain. Somehow Myrnal was going to have to convince Minshara to stop buzzing over her.

Always checking on me, making sure I'm not bleeding or infected or gangrene or whatever the hell. What does she care? I'm none of her damned business. One mercenary gets injured and maybe dies. So what. World keeps on moving. She has got. To stop. Mothering and covering and smothering like a little dwarf housewife.

She sighed. No sense in snapping at her over it. It was Myrnal's job to hurt people and occasionally be hurt by them. It was Minshara's job to worry about everyone and everything, no matter how trivial.

"It's fine. I wouldn't worry about it if I were you. I'm sure that I'll have all kinds of new injuries for you to fuss over before too long."

Demetri’s ability to speak was hindered by the simple facts of disliking the two women; both reasons opposites of each other. The one named Lyra he disliked for her prodding. The other one he disliked because of her arrogance. If he had not met Lyra before the carriage ride, he would have been more open with her and much nicer. However, fate had sealed Lyra’s on the fateful night when he had met her in the tavern.

Myrnal, he had a feeling, would never come to like him or would he her.

He hated being this way with the two women. He would have rather treated them with respect and care rather than be defensive, however he had had to assume and believe that they were assassins. Gods damn him. Now they probably believed him a stupid, resentful, sullen, and ignorant young man who were paranoid about everyone. How he would love to show them different! Now, he had taken a verbal thrashing by a little woman and her dog, and made himself look like a fool in front of Altair. Furthermore, hadn’t he just been thinking to himself on how he would gain Altair’s respect by being more capable with himself?

Demetri gritted his teeth in anger, his hand tightening silently against the seat beside him, his dark grey eyes flashing. Damn them all to the Pits!

The journey was smooth, to say the least, but not within Demetri’s mind. Demetri was having a terrible time; over analyzing the situation and being by far too critical with himself. He would have to find some kind of inner peace and get sharp soon for the Quegan if he was to survive and prove to the three people before him that Demetri Ferrinex was someone that they would have to look upon with respect.

So, bring on the orcs and goblins and whatever else was waiting. Pile them on and Demetri would show them all. Oh yes, he would show them!

The next few days passed uneventfully for Demetri. He got over his fear of the herbs presented to him by Lyra at the tavern and began using them. Much to his surprise, they had no ill effects upon his person, and eventually he would have to get around to giving Lyra a thanking. Unfortunately, he had made an ass of himself on the first day they had met and he doubted he would have the chance to give her anything.

Finding Ele well, he came around back to where the women were waiting to go and Demetri gave them a slightly pleasant nod. The hilts of his Twins gleamed as if by sunlight on his back, Demetri having taken the time to polish them with anticipation on what was soon going to happen.

"So as strange as this sounds considering I still trust you about as far as I can throw you, if you can help me keep an eye out for Lyra, I'll try and do the same for you guys. Sound fair?"

Altair listened to Myrnal speak without interruption. She would not have requested his audience unless it was absolutely necessary, judging from the awkward atmosphere which hung over them. Personally, he did not concern himself with them being potential enemies but they, along with Demetri acted as such.

Still, when Myrnal presented this option to Altair, the assassin could not help but frown at her request. While she did her best to conceal her tone of concern, Altair picked up stray bits of trepidation in her words and quietly acknowledged them.

Enemies or not, he knew for a fact that their best chance of survival in the mighty jungle was together.

“I know too well what Orcs are capable of, especially in the presence of women. I have no intention of allowing that to happen to your friend, or yourself for that matter, if we are ever besieged,” he said, “If the need arises, I’ll have your back,”

With that said, Altair nodded to her and walked off. That would have to do. No reason loitering about more than necessary. She said her piece, and he said hers. Now he had to prepare quickly for their trek into the forest. Their guide, Larkin, seemed impatient to leave and Altair could not blame him.

Removing his long black leather coat, Altair folded it into a small neat square and laid it on the ground next to his pack. His sword in scabbard lay next to it already. He removed his leather vest underneath and folded it in the exact same way. The light shone off his powerful and muscular upper body and the slight tenses in the muscle whenever he moved his arm or inched his back.

Taking out a brown long sleeved shirt, Altair threw it on immediately, the shirt hugging his broad frame tightly, leaving nothing to the imagination. Quickly, he placed his folded clothes into his pack and sealed it up. Reattaching his sword and scabbard, he picked up the pack and moved to meet the group and the guide.

The temperature in the jungle was not going to be favorable and thus, he had no use for his darker clothes. But he also knew of the large number of mosquitoes and hoped that the long sleeves would at least keep biting to a minimum.

He walked up to the group and waited. He was ready now, to continue the trek through the Quegan. Excitement rose up in him but it was laced with apprehension.

Yet fear did not touch him. His quest was all that mattered.

They had been moving for the past few days in relative silence, moving as soon as the sun provided enough light and resting once dusk arrived. The men took turns to keep watch, as did Myrnal. Min offered but the others didn't seem to take her seriously. She supposed she should be glad that things were going relatively easy although she was irked that she couldn't do anything to help anyone out. Minshara liked being useful. It prevented her from feeling indebted - which was the worst feeling of all.

The trees, probably hundreds of years old, towered over them as the sunlight dripped lazily through the canopy. It leaked slowly throughout the forest, smoothing a layer of gold over everything in their path. Larkin moved out ahead of them with Myrnal and Minshara a few steps behind and Altair with Demetri guarding their backs.

"In case, we get separated," Larkin spoke as he slashed through a bunch of verdant vegetation. "Just follow the river southwards, until it splits and follow the branch that goes eastwards. If she didn't speak Nijonese, I would have advised the lot of you to turn back towards Narim. No offense," he tipped his hat at Min,"But our Common isn't common at all there... and the local folks don't take to rest of Entar kindly. The Border Guards will probably deny you entry too. But that's an improvement, considering they used to kill us on sight."

"None taken," Min replied, wiping the sweat off her brow using the outside her sleeve. She actually liked the heat. Minshara looked around her. The Quegan was an amazing place, with life pouring out from every nook and cranny. It seemed that the very ground they walked on was alive, pulsating with warmth and the promise of new trees. Every once in a while Min carefully cut specimens and placed each one into one of the numerous small glass vials she had carefully packed in her sling bag. It was quiet, mainly because no one talked much in the jungle, but it wasn't devoid of sound. The silence was peppered with the sounds of crickets, cicadas and other curious-looking insects, the occasional jewel-hued snake, the similarly coloured birds and the far-off monkeys. On occasion, Min still heard the muffled thought, coming at her like words smothered through a pillow. It plied at her on the wind, snaking its way through the stillness of the jungle.

The six pairs of eyes followed them carefully - always watching and waiting for the party to relax their guard.

The plant was barely a shoot, with crumpled pale green leaves and a strange-looking egg shaped structure growing at its base. The dark blue eyes blinked then narrowed. A sharp steel blade tentatively approached the plant, unsure of how to cut it.

Larkin had set up camp near a small cove and was busily stoking a fire to keep them warm at night, when the temperatures plummeted and a relatively chilly wind could easily cause any of them to fall into a fever.

Her irregular sleep pattern had returned and Min could no longer manage more than four hours of sleep. She tried but mostly spent it, in a half-conscious state, wishing she had something to do. Tonight, she decided to check out the plant life near her sleeping area.

Myrnal and the others were now asleep, except Altair who was keeping watch. He sat straight, eyes looking out into the impenetrable darkness and seemed like a tightly wound catch threatening to release a deadly trap. She half-wondered what went on in a mind that seemed to be made out of icy gears and devoid of emotional response.

Min looked back to the plant. The dagger was delicate but the plant was so small, Min feared she would do more damage to it if she tried to cut one of the egg-shaped sacs away. She frowned and then turned to Altair, sheathing the dagger back into its sheath at the hip.

“Do you happen to have slimmer blade? Something really slender but sharp… maybe about this width at most?” she asked, indicating the measurement with her fingers.

Altair paused for a moment, then ran a hand along this boot to retrieve a stiletto. “Will this do?”

She took it with a smile, “It’s perfect.” She turned back to the plant and extracted the sac, placing it on a stone and began to sketch its shape in her notebook before dissecting it. Altair sat, unmoving as usual, until she wiped the blade clean on her thigh before returning it to him. “Thank you. Mine was too large for a delicate job.”

His eyes dropped to the kaiken, trailing down the silken cord that hung from the hilt. “It seems too precious a weapon for simple gardening.” He held out his hand, “May I?”

Min handed the dagger, sheath and all to him.

He held it still for a moment before pulling out the blade and studying it by the fire. “It’s very well-made,” he commented, after a few moments of observation, returning it. “Far too beautiful and expensive for normal use.”

“I agree” she replied settling it back as she packed her things. Now that the vein of conversation had been opened, she didn’t quite feel so odd talking to him.

“Do you know how to use it in combat?”

Min shook her head. “I’m afraid that’s Myrnal’s territory,” she conceded. She knew how to hold her grip and maybe use it to slice things up but skillful use was uncharted waters. “I’m not trained in any use of weapons.”

“What about hand-to-hand combat?”

Min shook her head and felt his eyes look her over. The quiet settled over the pair once more.

“I could offer you a lesson if you wouldn’t mind,” the cool and rather nonchalant voice spoke again.

Min blinked. Somehow the content and the tone didn’t seem to match and she would have thought him kidding if not for the serious expression on his face. Considering his reticence, it would have taken him much consideration to even entertain such a thought.  “That offer is much appreciated. I would be grateful for any assistance.”

They passed the next hour as teacher and student as Altair taught her basic moves with her dagger, changing its grip to attack from various positions and direction, correcting her stance and postures and other things he thought she should know. It would come in useful if the worse came to be, he said.

When they were done, Minshara felt a sense of accomplishment learning something that she had not considered part of her sphere.

“You pick things up quite fast,” The tall figure took its place once more by the fireside.

“I had strict teachers with high expectations,” came the immediate reply. "You could say I was under pressure to perform."

A small shadow of a smile passed his expression. Either that or it was a trick of shadows. “You must have had a rather privileged childhood,”

She could not remember but nodded anyway. “I had loving parents who granted me whatever I wanted. I was fortunate enough to be born into a family with means.”

“I heard that birth determines everything in Nijon,” a distinct bitterness slipped in between the syllables as he spoke.

“It does, which is why I am grateful for what the gods have given me,” she stared into the fire.

“I had hoped to ask you at a more opportune moment,” he leveled a gaze at her, “If you could tell me more about your native land.”

Minshara felt small inside, as if someone else had taken over control of her brain and did all the talking. She spoke of the social structure, explaining the classes and the professions that segregated them. She mentioned the political framework and the significance of the clans before settling into what she knew of a commoner’s life. The more she spoke, the stranger she sounded yet, more familiar the words became. Minshara paused to keep her personal opinions out of the facts, the way a child pulls away from a locked door despite having a key – fearful of what lies behind.

“And these Yakuza deal with most things illegal?”

She shrugged. “From what I know, some are as strong as the ruling bushi family in the area. Only a handful of Yakuza families wield that power but if you want things that can’t be found on the surface – they are the people you go to. The wonders of organised crime, but I wouldn’t recommend it unless it’s worth the risk. Anyway, I see our friend has woken up to take over your watch and I’ve kept you up long enough.”

She pulled the blanket up to her waist and gave him another one of her smiles before turning in, “Thank you once more for the lesson. Goodnight, Mr. Altair.”

“Goodnight, Miss Lyra,” answered as he returned to bed.

The stone jumped from its bed on the ground and remained in the air, hovering as if an invisible hand held it there. The soft glare of the gentle fire behind cast questionable shadows in the dim light and yet the stone was held aloft, suspended and wavering slowly from side to side.

Altair’s eyes gazed intently at the stone, his brows slightly furrowed but otherwise unchanged. His broad frame hid the spectacle from sight and the fire behind him threw away revealing shadows. He pulled the stone towards him, solely with the power of his mind and it swam through the air effortlessly.

He smiled to himself. Practicing this ability accorded a sense of satisfaction he never assumed he’d have. From the moment he had moved the vases in the house as Demetri and himself had fled Míriel, Altair took it upon himself to attempt to hone this gift every chance he got and he reveled in the fact that he could move small, however insignificant objects with relative ease.

He heard a slight sound behind him and willed the stone into his waiting palm.

“Do you happen to have slimmer blade? Something really slender but sharp… maybe about this width at most?” Minshara asked, indicating the measurement with her fingers.

He turned slowly, taking in her soft features illuminated by the glow of the dancing flames and nodded slowly, brandishing one of his own prized stilettos.

The look she gave him was one borne of innocent sincerity and it warmed his heart slightly. As she went about with her business, Altair allowed his mind to wander, all the while watching her.

He recalled the conversation he had had with Myrnal, the one about protecting Minshara. In truth, he had been thinking about it a lot. What would drive someone like Myrnal to approach him, a person she obviously did not trust and enlist his aid in protecting Minshara?

It was all very dubious and Altair wondered if there was something deeper that’s happening here. Fate had brought all four of them together and fate once again is leading them to a similar destination. Altair knew that there was more to do this meets the eye, that Minshara was more than just the gentle creature he thought of her as and Myrnal was more than a loud mouthed and brash young woman.

As she approached him again, Altair knew that whatever this woman was and what her intentions were, she was far more familiar of Nijon than him and if Fate had brought them together, who was he to kick it in the face?

This chance, to pinpoint a better place to start searching for Talia does not come lightly and it was a chance he was going to take.

“Thank you. Mine was too large for a delicate job," she said, in earnest and he smiled.

His eyes dropped to the kaiken, trailing down the silken cord that hung from the hilt. “It seems too precious a weapon for simple gardening.” He held out his hand, “May I?”

Minshara handed the dagger, sheath and all to him.

And what a way it was to begin a conversation.

She heard the earth shift behind her foot, and even as she turned she had to bend backward to avoid the flash of metal that told her she was under attack. Her arm swung out with a blade in hand, striking where her assailant must be standing and as she brought herself around fully she saw a dark-clad figure slipping away from her blade precisely as she'd just done. Either they were at a similar skill level or one of them had gotten very lucky. Fights with short blades flew quickly by and could kill or maim before the weilder of a larger weapon would have had time to lift an arm.

Myrnal's opponent slid a foot back and flung his right arm forward, feinting at her face before carving an arc in the air toward her neck. She slid back as well, bringing her blade up toward the underside of his arm. He drew back instantly. He'd had the advantage initially; her speed had been the only thing preventing his first attack from being the only one he needed. Now they were face to face, and even though he'd lost the contest of stealth he was still larger than she was by a decent margin, and Myrnal could not afford to take a solid hit from him even once.

But she'd held her own when caught by surprise and now that he'd lost that advantage the even ground began to shift in her favor. She drew another blade, and her opponent did as well in almost the same instant. She would surely lose a battle of attrition, but a quick fight was hers to win.

His next swing backed her up against a a tree, her foot buried in the undergrowth surrounding its base. Her assailant reached and slipped an arm around her shoulder, turning her and pulling her against him. As he shifted his arm up to her neck to get a better grip, his hand slid up her torso and he found something he had not expected. He dropped a hand down to the curve of her hip and confirmed it.

A woman? What?

With a growl she twisted her hips and jammed the thinly-cushioned bone at the side into the space between his legs. The only thing that saved him was the sixth sense alerting him to an impending threat to his manhood. He released her and stepped back as she turned to face him, blades drawn.

Oh, yeah. Only a woman would do that.

Myrnal heard others moving in the leaves, and if her allies weren't already awake she had little time to warn them. "Wake up! Now!" she cried.

She struck forward with one arm, sliding a foot back to present a narrower profile before using her arm's momentum to swing herself around entirely once he parried her first attack. As her other arm came around she swung for him with the back of her blade and cut the cloth of his uniform as he slipped away. He struck, spun, and missed just as she had.

They did not speak. There was no need. Preoccupied with one another, each could read in the tension of the other's strokes and movements that something was wrong. Their shoes slipping across the forest floor and the whisper of their clothing was the only sound they added to the hissing of their blades through the shadowed air.

Arms straightened and retracted, feet slid and weight was shifted onto the toes of the other foot and back. Daggers flicked through the air, ready to carve flesh but meeting only empty space as each warrior parried and dodged the other. They paused, ducked, and feinted... each the precise mirror image of the other.

They pulled apart. "You dance like a Fatal Claw. Who was your master?"

"Tetsukari Noboru," she answered.

For a moment the world went silent. There were no insects in the grass, no birds in the trees or hunters stalking prey in the night. Just anger.

"You whoring little bitch."