Prayer of the Refugee [OPEN]

[Voice]

"Warm yourself by the fire, son,
And the morning will come soon.
I'll tell you stories of a better time,
In a place that we once knew."

A turbulent gust of wind, as if every cloud in the mid-afternoon sky overhead had exhaled at once, stormed a path through the surrounding park. The bushes nearby whistled as their limbs shook violently, no doubt shivering in reaction and clutching desperately to what leaves were left. The branches upon the tree above groaned and lamented, having no choice but to sway back and forth as they sought to steady themselves. A swing nearby screeched in response, its chains grinding painfully together with only rust serving as a hope of lubricant in their movement. It was truly a depressing sight, this park already falling into dilapidation with time and now having no choice but to succumb to whatever nature threw at it.

Yes, depressing. But even more than that, it was all so dreadfully loud.

Any semblance of peace and quiet seemed to have been swept away with the most recent gust, long gone and not likely to return. A pair of cold blue, narrowed eyes blinked slowly, canvassing the area and watching the environment give way to the whim of the winds. A moment later they closed, finding the darkness of his eyelids as sufficiently more pleasant. Voice's dark coat whipped about his body in an agitated manner, obviously none the happier about the weather than Voice or the park. The air held a slight chill, though this would not matter once he had warmed his blood. Cold was the least of his concerns.

How was it supposed to be possible to relax amidst so much noise? 

A sigh -- Was that him? Perhaps another unrelenting breath of mother nature. In fact it was Voice's own exhale that time, a startling sound even in his own mind. It had been quite some time since he had spoken much, let alone made much of an audible noise. In a quest for silence, Voice did himself no favors by aiding the noise of the Menagerie with his own. Instead, he had spent a considerable time leaning his back against the embrace of the tree behind him. The bark seemed by welcome him as a friend, empathizing with their shared plight against mother nature. Two brothers in arms.

A loud crack echoed throughout the park, sending a shiver down his spine and causing one cold, calculating eye to open. A branch crashed to the ground, its limbs reaching out to him as if praying to be saved. The wind had claimed another victim in its crusade. Extending his right arm and pointer finger, as if beckoning to the sky, Voice fixed his eye on a fading leaf fluttering slowly from the tree above him. It trembled in the grasp of the wind, having no other choice but to accept whatever fate would befall (ironically...) it. Moving his finger subtly to the right, Voice allowed the leaf to brush across the tip of it before wisping it out of the air by the stem. The wind tried valiantly to tear its victim from Voice's grasp, but to no avail. Opening his other eye, Voice traced the veins along the underside of the leaf. Life had long since ceased to flow to the margin of its blade.

It served as a beautiful, yet macabre, reminder of what would eventually happen to everything in this god-forsaken hell.

[Cole]

It had taken a tremendous amount of encouragement from Sapphire for Cole to even consider taking the stallion outside of Fallen territory. Sapphire, although not his actual name, was what Cole had taken to calling him due to the color of his eyes. He had responded with exasperation initially but, upon realizing that it was what she did toward people she cared for, he accepted it. He was one of the few she had even bothered to "name" in her head, consisting of a limited plethora of acquaintances and "family".

Sapphire had become the closest thing to a friend that Cole had in Fallen and, surprisingly, she valued his opinion. He insisted that if she wanted to make a good horse out of the stallion she would need to expose him to more than just the Fallen desert. She agreed with him but continued to harbor the fear that, outside of the desert, the stallion would spook and she would never be able to find him again. There were too many variables that she could not control and this unnerved her. It was the one thing she liked about finally having a Ring--it was a controlled environment. She knew what to expect.

In the desert, the weather had been perfect. Outside of it, Cole quickly discovered she could not have decided upon a worse day to take out the stallion. It was miserably windy and cold. Cole did not allow herself to be deterred, with Sapphire's gentle encouragement in mind. Expose him to whatever you can. You need to learn how to control him in whatever environment you have to. Thus she plunged into Ring territory, unafraid of the Ring that occupied the area. They were not as vicious as those that lived upon the sea-side.

The stallion did well at first. He jumped now and again but, for the most part, headed her commands easily. They had begun to form a bond by now and Cole would be a liar to say she was not fond of her finicky companion, despite all of his orneriness. She rode him without a saddle and only a bit, directing him gently and urging him occasionally with a heel. He responded well to that. They were at a light trot through the trees when the wind gusted suddenly and a branch snapped loudly enough that the stallion almost side-stepped from beneath her. That gentle "trot" became a full-blown lope through the lower-hanging trees of the park. Cole ducked low over his neck and held. She reined him in, pulling his head to the side and almost into her knee. He spun a circle, angrily, and when she at last straightened him out of the trees he was calmer.

Cole exhaled. That went better than I expected...

Only the stallion had tensed and his ears were pointed directly forward. She followed where his attention lay and soon discovered one of the Keeper's mutants. He seemed rather placid and, as she backtracked over what she knew about Rings, she remembered that the city-dwelling Ring did not accept these mutants in their midst. Did that make him a rogue? And if so, would he be hostile. She straightened and prepared to turn the stallion away. She would have, as well, if not driven by curiosity. "Why are you so calm, out here on hostile territory?" Perhaps he was stupid.

If that was the case, he would not live long. The stallion shifted under her, nervously, and she knew that he wanted to run. Cole did not allow him to. She forced him to stay there, still. Expose him, she reminded herself, staring inexplicably at this strange Keeper creation.

[Voice]

"Before we packed our bags
And left all this behind us in the dust,
We had a place that we could call home,
And a life no one could touch."

Once more Voice's eyes surveyed the leaf as it fluttered in the wind, firmly in his grasp. It amazed him how the slow decay of the chlorophyll in the leaf could create such a beautiful rendition of death in an environment where little beauty lay to be found. This scene represented the only true beauty to be found in the Menagerie, with the Rings and Keepers tainting any allure that the rest of this entrapment may present. It was quite s--


His thoughts were interrupted by the audible sound of something that did not belong. Even with the noise created by the wind, one knew what to expect: trees bristling, bushes shaking, swings creaking, and even small objects tossing around in the hands of mother nature. But this sound... it was out of place. Voice slowly closed his eyes and reached out, placing his first two fingers against a gnarled root to his right. A sensual explosion erupted in his head, causing him to wince in pain.  Pounding, creaking, shaking, quaking -- the vibrations themselves were far too much to deal with so quickly. Colors seemed to explode behind his eyes, similar to lines on a pond when a rock breaks the surface. Except in this case, there were too many rocks to count and the lines moved far too quickly to trace. It was utterly unbearable and indiscernible, causing Voice to recoil slightly and instead focus his hearing on the strange noise.

It became audibly louder, gaining in speed and rhythm as it closed before becoming much more sloppy - as if faltering. Voice had heard this sound before, searching desperately through his mind to place it. It certainly was not a sound heard often in the Menagerie. 

Before Voice could ponder further, the noise was upon him, stopping just short of his left side. A voice -- that of a woman -- spoke out to him in a curious tone, yet with a hint of something else. Voice couldn't place it, but it did not feel friendly.

"Why are you so calm, out here on hostile territory?"

Allowing his left eye to open, his ice-cold gaze fell upon the inquisitory persona. A stallion? Why on earth could he not place the sound of its hooves? But it mattered not - He had a situation at hand. Her question puzzled him still. How would she know that this territory held hostile intentions toward him? There did not seem to be enough light to cause his hair to flicker, and his back was covered. Could she smell it? Perhaps that was the tone he could not sense: Judgement. Of course, he was an abomination amongst monsters. The cruel irony. 

The right eye followed suit, Voice's head turning ever so slightly to stare at the rider before allowing his lips to part.

"Where, exactly, would one expect to find territory that isn't hostile in this prison?" 

His tone was calm, almost subtle with just a hint of a German accent. Voice's face alluded to no sign of fear, angry, curiosity, or any other emotion at that. Instead, his gaze narrowed to study the demeanor of his visitor, looking for something to cue him in on whether or not she possessed knowledge of what he was. A fight certainly would not aid him here, but it was not very often that visitors turned out to be anything other than a threat. 

Then again, death may serve as a welcome escape from this hell hole. 

[Cole]

It was merely Cole's honed attention to detail that allowed her to notice that this man was a mutant. He seemed quite placid there, perhaps even content, but something about the hue of his hair and the shape of her eyes alluded to a different nature. She did not move quickly. She did not move whatsoever aside from what she found necessary to keep the stallion under control. Even her approach had not caused him to stir! This confused Cole, a hotblooded girl, so adept at moving. If someone had approached her in such a fashion she would have certainly reacted by now. This stranger did not seem so concerned. It could have been arrogance or apathy; either were of no concern of hers.

"... nowhere." Her answer, instantaneous, offered agreement toward his hypothetical question. Nowhere offered safety. Even in the territory of Fallen she slept badly and often awoke in order to ensure all remained peaceful and calm. There were nights when Hush could not find her easily; she would venture to the border and sent beneath the stars, alone, too afraid of sleep. What if the sea-side Ring wished to attack? What if the city-dwellers suddenly invaded? What if the desert Ring fell into civil-war, a mutiny?

The stallion continued to breathe heavily. His attention remained locked upon the mutant and, from his reaction, Cole could have easily believed that the mutant had been spliced with a sort of predator. She could not tell what. She was not even certain, anymore, that he was a mutant... which could mean that he belonged in this territory and she was the hostile invader, in which case it would be in her best interest to leave quickly. He had made no move to attack but it unnerved her, his stillness, and the way that he gave a one-eyed stare. His eyes, vibrant blue, pierced her more than she would ever admit.

Thus Cole swallowed against her nervousness. "What are you?" It was a blunt question but the answer would influence her reaction toward him. It would dictate whether she stayed or fled, whether she was peaceful or hostile. "Who are you, even?" She knew the name would slip from her mind the moment she heard it. She knew that... but she held on to hope, regardless, that one day she would find a name that she could remember. A normal, human name, not a nickname, not a thing. She wanted desperately to discover her memory repaired, or at least no longer so broken.

A fragile hope.

[Voice]

"So open your eyes child,
Let's be on our way.
Broken windows and ashes
Are guiding the way."

"What are you?"

"Who are you, even?"

Questions, questions, questions. A question, immediately followed by another question. 

Such an inquisitive creature. Yet, her questions had taken a turn since her response to his own. Her demeanor, although it had not shifted on the outside, seemed to change direction ever so slightly. Had his response swayed the course of the conversation, giving him control? Not that it was extremely important to have control, but this was a stranger - one whose motives were still unclear. Every possible advantage mattered. The more important advantage, however, was that her demeanor had not become aggressive, something he would have expected from a creature that called this area their home. This was not the enemy; Merely one stranger trying to evaluate the other for the same reasons.

Nonetheless, it would be silly to expect him to show his cards right away. Revealing yourself as an Anthromorph was never the ideal course of action. 

His eyes narrowed ever-so-slightly, locking on her own without wavering in the slightest. Intimidation? Hardly. Instead, Voice was watching for the most subtle of movements. His years in the Menagerie had taught him to read what was not meant to be shown, looking past the carefree movements into those that the person across from you do not realize they're making. Subtle hints. 

She gave very few, if any. Her eyes remained unwavering, even if Voice could tell that there was a substantial amount of thought power hiding behind them. 

Another powerful gust ripped through the area, whipping his coat about him viciously. Once more, the entire park seemed to groan in unison as if mother nature were trying to tear it from the Menagerie altogether. A flurry of leaves began to drift down from the tree above them, circling around the two almost as if meant to encompass them. Reaching slowly, yet in a very fluid and subtle manner, Voice plucked an entangled leaf from his hair and - without breaking his transfixion upon her eyes. Then, suddenly, a very slight curvature of his lips signaled what could be thought of as a smile. Perhaps it was only a mirage, even, being as slight as it was.

Voice's eyes lowered to the leaf, once more tracing its outline. His name...?

A psychological twinge, almost as if it had been ingrained within him at that thought. Voice knew quite well that he could not answer that question, be it not for lack of conviction. Voice simply did not know the answer, nor particularly why he could not remember. He had his hypothesis, mostly thanks to realizing what he was through innumerable encounters with the prejudicial Rings that called the Menagerie home. Voice was the creation of the Keepers. He was trash. What he was countered everything that they stood for, and only further reminded them of the fact that he should not even be alive. Nevermind the fact that he had been like them at one point in time. That fact was lost upon the Rings, and ignored by those recreants, the Nakoma. 

Snapped back to reality by yet another blustery gust of wind, Voice turned to look at the visitor once more. This look, admittedly, was a smidgen softer than those he had given her before. A lapse in his facade, perhaps, if she happened to notice. It would not last.

"I am a survivor, same as yourself."

A survivor that would fight tooth, nail, and with every last breath, all the while wishing to die.

[Cole]

It never ceased to amaze Cole that the Menagerie brought together so many strange sorts and forced them to interact. There they were, in an impossible situation, in an impossible world, having an impossible conversation. Even the words they shared, relatively normal for the dome, seemed to her to be a sort of dream. They were vague, intentionally so, and it was clear to her that they were both assessing the other. No one in the Menagerie lived for long if they did not do so. Cole regarded every stranger as a threat and every situation as a deadly one.

The stallion was becoming increasingly anxious and difficult to hold still. She turned him in a tight circle, breaking eye contact for the first time. It was then that the wind began to blow again and the leaves fell on their private encounter. The stallion started beneath her and aimed to bolt away; she again pulled him in a tight circle until he relented and no longer fought against her. It was then and only then that she allowed him to settle. Rather than the stallion's head facing the stranger they were now abreast him, the entire side of the stallion and Cole exposed in a way that she was not necessarily fond of. She watched him again, no longer speaking, amazed at the slow deliberation with which he moved. It was lethargic but precise, an interesting contrast, and it unnerved Cole. She had witnessed the same way of moving in most great predators. Lions, crocodiles, birds of prey. They were all so precise and elegant and slow until they struck with deathly and quick precision. The stallion snorted, drawing her back from her musings, and Cole slackened the reins slightly. She leaned forward over his withers to pat his hot neck, reassuringly, and continued to ponder the nature of this stranger. 

He intrigued her, if nothing else. With him, her ex-lover, she had never been fond of curiosity. The organization had discouraged questions and, instead, insisted that a job be preformed without them. In the Menagerie she felt liberated. Here, she could be as inquisitive as she liked! The danger and uncertainty of the situation made her feel awake and alive, more so than the sanctuary of the deserts. 

"Are we, though?" she asked, with a sardonic edge. Her lip curled into a half-smile, perhaps a little bitter. They may have been surviving but the days they genuinely thrived were few and far between. 

The stallion was becoming increasingly nervous, although his attention was no longer so focused upon the stranger. He paced in place and Cole allowed him to step forward before she drew the reins back and made the stallion back up a few paces. He gnawed at the bit, toying with it, a habit that he had picked up when he was ultimately frustrated. Cole directed her gaze toward the empty park and beyond the swings. That was where the stallion's attention lay, although she saw nothing yet. "Are these lands yours?" Cole asked, rather softly, her eyes snapping back to lock upon the inhumanely blue ones of the stranger. 

[Voice]

"We are the angry and the desperate,
The hungry, and the cold.
We are the ones who kept quiet,
And always did what we were told."

"Are we, though?"

Voice's lips curled into a confident, almost arrogant half-smile, a very slight chuckle becoming audible at the same time. Her response humored him, and he suddenly felt a bit more respect for this stranger. She was willing to play along in this twisted, deranged game that he was playing. Despite the noted unrest of her faithful stallion, a facet that had not fallen unnoticed, this young woman was becoming much more confident in the conversation. A worthy chess opponent.

"Humor is one of the best ingredients of survival". While he found those words to be naive and ridiculous, the irony of memory triggers did not fail him. 

Voice blinked slowly, leaving his audible chuckle as the answer to her question. Instead, he focused his attention briefly on the stallion's stare. Something was causing the beast some concern, though Voice could not tell if it was merely a finicky beast reacting out of unrest or if its concern truly was warranted. The continued onslaught of the wind in the park made it near impossible for him to pick any outside noises up, let alone try to feel vibrations. Without a proper background reading, which he did not have, it would prove as simply too much noise to differentiate something that did not belong. No, he would have to watch the stallion carefully, as well as the stranger's reactions. It was apparent by now that they were not welcome guests on these lands, anymore than he was. The stallion's unrest, if anything, gave that away even more so than her curiosity and prodding questions.

"Are these lands yours?"

Voice was summoned back to the conversation at hand, having lost himself in his thought process yet again. His eyes slowly traveled back to the stranger's, hardening slightly at the question. 

"They are no more mine than they are yours. The Keepers own everything.", a slight lace of poison, perhaps, on the tail end of his response. His eyes narrowed slightly in conjunction at the mention of the Keepers. Voice was not as foolish as the Rings to believe that anybody owned anything in this hell, let alone their own possessions, flesh, and blood. The only thing that one truly owned in the confines of this glass dome would be one's own thoughts and actions, although that was even a stretch. They were influenced by whatever the bastard Keepers wanted them to be influenced by, nothing but a continuous science experiment and constant psychological dehumanization. Although, to be fair, they weren't humans. But they were, just as humans are, living and breathing beings. 

But with power comes the psychological need to have power over something, as has always been the history of our planet's great powers. Because what was the point of power if one could not flex it, enforce it, and make it be felt. What is the power of speech, if there existed nobody to hear it? What is the power of strength, if there is nobody to oppress? What is the power of research, if nothing existed to study?

Therein lies the fate of all Shifters, marionettes at the behest of Fate. The Keepers were simply the strings.

[Cole]

The Keepers own everything. Cole, a woman of such passion, always had difficulty agreeing with statements that included the concept of "ownership" due to the fact that she enjoyed arguing she could not, in fact, be owned. The crux of the matter--and Cole knew it, always, even if she disliked admitting it--that she could quite easily become an object. Cole was an object in the Menagerie and she had been an object outside of the Menagerie, always a tool. Here, she was an experiment, utilized to understand a creature that defied all natural laws. Outside, she had always been the weapon in the killer's hand, the dog that had been trained to attack and slay. She had never had freedom and so it came as no surprise or difference that she lacked it here. So she did not argue. She merely shook her head, hardly in disagreement. It was a sad gesture although Voice may not have known her well enough to recognize it as such. Now, the stallion tossed back his head and attempted to step back. Cole found his behavior increasingly concerning and she tightened her thighs around the stallion, securing her position atop him. "Shhhh, boy." Cole reached out to touch his neck. There was a snap to the left that startled the stallion. Strangely, the wind was not blowing at the moment and the snap was followed by another. His attention was now split between the swing set and the dense foliage beside him. Cole was also unnerved, now, knowing that they were in hostile territory... That would have been the opportune moment to exit the scene. Cole spun the stallion in preparation and then hesitated, remembering her current company. In a lifetime of evils, abandoning him there would have been among the lesser... yet she could not bring herself to do so. "I believe," Cole said, conversationally. "That we may have company. Despite the fact our owners watch, they are not so likely to intervene... would you like to take your chances alone?" It was possible that Cole was being paranoid. She had been so before but it was not only herself that felt apprehensive; it was also the horse, who had much keener instincts. ooc: i figure that we can have some Fulsi barge in on them, if you like? u3u

[Voice]

Something about his response seemed to unnerve her, unless Voice was misreading the woman before him. She shook her head, but there was something different about the way that she did so. Voice was about to inquire, but her stallion once more began to toss and act uneasily. His eyes broke from hers at the sound of the snap to in the direction of the swing set, narrowing as he attempted to focus on the distance. He still could not make out any approaching figures or animals, but this disturbance could not be blamed on the wind this time - it had temporarily relinquished its vice grip upon the park, no doubt resting up for the second onslaught. 

"I believe, that we may have company. Despite the fact our owners watch, they are not so likely to intervene... would you like to take your chances alone?"

Was that... an offer to assist him? Why on earth would this stranger offer her assistance, given their previous conversation and the live-or-die mentality of the Menagerie? She had the means to get away from whatever threat lie before them, leaving Voice as a means to slow them down even further. Voice had not exactly been welcoming to their conversation, though he did not mean his previous musings as a means of being rude; merely a means of being careful and cautious. There was more to this woman before him than he first thought, a rare hint of empathy perhaps. Voice had known one other inhabitant that had provided him with similar assistance, an old friend and Anthromorph like himself. Their mutual disdain for the Nakoma and Ring prejudice made a suitable building block for a camaraderie that lasted until his untimely death some time ago. 

But she was not an Anthromorph. Or was she? This woman had not shown herself to be a shifter or an Anthro, though she lacked much in terms of mutations that would give her away. Could she be trusted? Perhaps this was only a ploy to get him to turn his attention elsewhere, providing the perfect opportunity to strike. What would there be to gain of such action, though? Voice had no possessions, aside from the clothes on his back - not even a weapon to defend himself with other than his physical abilities.

But a decision had to be made. Voice reached two fingers out, gently placing them against the root of the tree that he was seated against. Vibrations surged through his fingers, although significantly lessened thanks to the window of opportunity afforded by the wind's disappearance. 

The creaking of the swing set... A murmur from the trees and shrubbery around... and then -- there is was. Very slight, and barely noticeable from their distance, but Voice could feel a series of vibrations as if there were multiple beings moving around. He could not tell how many - it was impossible to tell due to the chance that they were animals, serpents, or any number of possible living creatures. But the vibrations were there, and vibrations do not lie.

Pulling his hands back, Voice turned his head back toward the stranger. There existed a much softer look in his eyes, followed by an exasperated sigh. Placing one hand against the cold surface of the earth below him, Voice very nimbly climbed to his feet. His tall, slender figure stood in stark contrast next to the tree under which they spoke, a low-hanging branch sitting just above his silver, untamed hair. Voice's blue eyes locked upon her's, his mouth parting but hesitating before he finally spoke. 

"It is not my place to ask another to risk their life for nothing more but a sense of virtue", he began, his voice soft and his accent almost unnoticeable, "But, I agree that our owners are not prone to offer assistance, so I would be foolish not to accept if you chose to. I will not stop you, should you choose to flee."

Voice was almost certain that she would not, but he meant what he said. He could not ask her to endanger herself in the place of a much less prepared atrocity of this prison. He would die eventually, but even the survivalist in him refused to take someone down with him to avoid doing so before his time. Voice would confront whatever emerged from the distance, full well aware that he was not likely able to outrun a pair of Fulsi scouts, if that is what awaited him. Turning, Voice picked up the branch that had fallen victim to the wind prior, straining so as to snap it so that he held two segments of it that were approximately a foot in length each and a sturdy enough diameter not to snap without sufficient force. Both segments possessed a sharp enough end to puncture flesh, should he have the need to do so - either against the Fulsi, or this stranger if it turned out to be a ruse or a plan of hers. He had not entertained the thought that they could be her friends, all of this being an elaborate scheme to deceive him.

Choosing to trust that it was not, but prepare himself for either possibility, Voice turned yet again to face the woman. Hesitantly, he spoke once more, "You asked who I was... I am what you hear. You can call me Voice."




(OOC: Go for it :) I don't mind at all)

[Cole]

Her expression, scornful, did not match the heart of her intentions. Cole did not expect to be thanked for her "kindness"; nor did she want to be. In a sense, she was grateful when he instead gave her his name. Cole nodded, thoughtfully, and spared a glance momentarily toward her scarred forearm. In jagged lettering she read the name that she, herself, had carved there. Nycole Sivis. It was an echo without meaning, a concept that she grasped only for a moment before it slipped away. He had not earned that name and so she gave her other. "I am Cole." Her thought was of the dark  black stuff that burned and stained hands with soot. Corrupt, dirty. Not the name of a pretty, chaste little girl. She cleared her throat and in one smooth movement dismounted the stallion. She held on to one end of the split reins before retrieving the other. She would not have normally tied him as she did in that instant, by his reins, due to the plethora of accidents that could result. Cole did not have much of a choice, however, and she would prefer to fight on her feet than from the back of her uncertain stallion. Cole paused for a moment to reach out and stroke his nose. He inhaled her scent, deeply, but did not calm. With that task completed, she methodically triggered her wrist blades and inspected the honed edges while moving to stand beside Voice. There was something dangerous in her calmness. Her eyes should have held a weary storm within; but they were as placid as the sea on a calm summer day, where wind was but a whisper and it had not rained for what seemed like years. No clouds in that sky. "I would prefer not to kill any of them," Cole said it the same way she would suggest what not to eat for dinner. So calm. So quiet. She listened for the first sign. The crash of a foot through foliage. So confident. They had every right to be. This was their land. Then she could hear their voices... too loud, the sort of whisper that carried. Cole immediately dubbed them as young. "You're trespassing!" Came a nervous voice from the trees. Then they emerged. A teenage boy, a mastiff, a clouded leopard, and a middle aged woman with dark hair. The woman was who concerned Cole; she held a longbow lightly in her hand. Her eyes caught on the gleaming blades at Cole's wrist and... There, a twitch. The arrow flew. Cole dropped and then exploded into motion. She bound toward her assailants, just in time to meet the mastiff head-on. A blade caught the canine just below the pectoral muscle and she heard the grunt and growl of pain. Then his claws caught her shoulder and his weight forced her down onto her back, teeth yawning wide at her face. This would have been an effective strategy if both of her arms had been secured; however she easily freed one and thrust the blade up in-between the mastiff's ribs. It made a wet noise and the mastiff let loose a harsh, hot breath. Cole rolled the body off of her and staggered to her feet. Her stallion was now angrily pulling at the reins, eyes wide with fear. With a snort she turned onto the woman but not before an arrow hit Cole in the flesh of her shoulder. She saw white stars of pain and released a breath. A few more labored breaths and she regained her senses, along with a new perception of pain. She eyed the woman who was struggling to aim another... Cole groaned. There was too much space between them...

[Voice]

Voice could not help but admire the woman before him for a moment, almost getting caught up in the subtlety of her movements. When she acted, she had a manner of doing so with such a smooth, graceful approach. It was almost poetic, particularly given their current situation. A glint caught off her blades, his eyes falling upon them and inspecting the dangerous weapons. She was much more prepared than he was, obviously being a bit more seasoned than he had previously thought. After all, he was carrying two halves of a broken branch to protect himself.

"I would prefer not to kill any of them"

Voice did not respond, simply choosing to acknowledge her wish rather than being in agreement. While he was not the type of bestow death upon every being that he came across, he was certainly not the type to assure the safety of anything in this environment. Very few would do the same for him. Although if they were Fulsi scouts, as he believed them to be, they had the benefit of not typically wanting to kill their targets. Voice would be much more prone to giving them the same benefit, depending on the outcome.

A crash. Twigs snapping and foliage bristling as figures moved through it and slowly into view.

"You're trespassing!"

The previously described figures emerged, slowly approaching them in such a smug manner. While the voice seemed nervous, their confidence was unnerving. They had the strength of numbers and this being their territory. Home field advantage. If they were truly nervous, it had to have been in earnest anticipation of the fight. Deep down, they did not want Voice and Cole to flee. The young man caught his attention first - something was not right about him. Voice could not see a visible weapon of sorts, but the way he strode... There was much more to him.

His thoughts were interrupted, an arrow burying itself into the flesh of the tree an inch from his head. He had been caught up in his mind far too long, a common mistake. Cole had erupted into motion, his own muscles tensing and exploding into action out of reaction to her own. Reaching up, he grabbed the branch and nimbly swung himself around the other side of the tree before breaking into a sprint. While he was certainly not the fastest, his light body structure allowed him to move considerably fast. His eyes met those of the clouded leopard, her own narrowing before she burst into motion. His speed would not be a match for such a beast, but his agility would lend him favors in this battle. 

Until he heard a sickening thud. It was not the sound of a body or object hitting the ground, but much more the sound of flesh groaning upon impact.  Voice's eyes left those of the leopard's for a moment, falling upon the scene before him and the arrow in Cole's shoulder. His mind raced, almost in a panicked state; There was another arrow notched and aimed at her. 

He had one shot at this. His only advantages were his agility, the closing distance between he and the woman, and her attention being focused solely on Cole. 

The leopard exploded into a leap, razor-sharp claws outstretched and directed straight for his chest. Voice acted immediately, leaping as high as he could and positioning his body in a horizontal spinning motion. His back collided with the leopard's, the spinning motion carrying him across it but not before the leopard had adjusted. Her claws raked his right shoulder blade, being the only part of his body that the leopard could re-adjust to grab. The pain disoriented him, his feet hitting the ground in an awkward manner. Stumbling awkwardly, Voice realized he had to re-position himself for one final jump with what momentum he had left despite the pain searing through his shoulder. Groaning, he left his feet one more time in a desperate, last-ditch attempt.

His hand just barely reached the arrow, Voice being unable to position himself to tackle the woman. Instead his fingers closed on the shaft of the arrow, plucking it nimbly from the drawn bowstring as he slid to the ground beneath the bow. Voice rolled to a stop, gasping for breath and against the pain of his wound. Before he could react, the leopard was upon him again, having only been a split second behind him.

The woman, realizing only a split second afterwards, could not stop her release. The bow string cleaved through the air with enormous force, having been fully-drawn. That tremendous kinetic energy normally would be directed into a notched arrow, but had nowhere to go this time. The sheer force of this energy instead erupted into the joints and limbs of the bow, a terrible, terrible mistake that the woman realized all too late. The limbs erupted, splinters piercing through the air in all directions and embedding themselves into her face, neck, and upper body area - the unfortunate result of the positioning required to aim down the shaft of a longbow. A blood-curdling scream let loose from her lips, her hands immediately grasping at the splinters in her face as she fell to the ground the writhed in agony. The teenage boy, who had previously been slowly moving in on Voice and the leopard to flank, paused and turned at the sound of the woman's screaming. Suddenly, the numbers were a lot more even than they had been. 

Voice, meanwhile, felt the claws of the leopard dig into either side of his chest, it's face directly in his. Her moist breath engulfed Voice's face as she growled at him, daring him to try to move again. Saliva fell upon his forehead, trickling along the wrinkled lines traced in pain. He grimaced, groaning as his rage-filled eyes fixed upon her's. Her claws felt like needles, just like... theirs. His mind raced, panicking as unrecognizable thoughts raced at light speed through his mind. Images... Pain... Memories... Emotions, all far too quickly for him to comprehend but all at the same time overwhelming his senses. He was freaking out, pinned down and unable to get up, It was like a set of restraints, almost as if he could feel the leather against his wrists again as he screamed and fought until the restraints cut into his skin. 

It was too much. Too much.

((Sorry about the delay :3 And hopefully it fits in with what you wanted to do with this scene. Take it whichever direction you'd like.))