Meanwhile in Mossflower...

Characters: Heskra, Ace, Roseheart, Amarro, various spoofed Juska!

Ah...early spring-slash-random-winter-storms. The forest is rife with the signs of the oncoming season and yet there are low, dark clouds hanging over the trees and the wind blowing through the tops of the trees is not a comforting breeze. Amarro, the traveling squirrel, pulls the hood of her overcoat down over her eyes and huddles down as small as possible, her pace quickening as she crunches through the forest. Her destination: home. On her back she carries her rapier and slung across her shoulder and dangling on her left thigh is a bag of provisions which she has painstakingly collected over the course of the afternoon. Why she isn't up in the trees is a question you'll have to ask her yourself. She doesn't expect to run into anyone around here and is muttering to herself as she hurries along her way.

Though the woods might be becoming rather unfriendly due to the oncoming clouds and the harsh wind, to those who are native to the woods of Mossflower and have never felt the comfort of living in a place like Redwall Abbey, the inclement weather isn't unexpected. There's little to do but soldier on and continue the rounds... or in this case, continue to stalk the quarry. For a short while now, a trio of beasts has been shadowing Amarro's steps, creeping behind her through the woods at a distance, watching her to see where she goes. She's getting awfully close now to things that she has no business seeing or interfering with, and if she doesn't turn back soon, they'll have no choice but to make their move. Of course, though these directions came as orders, they're not a chore. Amarro /is/ a woodlander, after all. They'd gladly gank her and loot her corpse afterwards if they have to.

Amarro should have been able to sense the threesome stalking her through the woods but she's become complacent in the last few days having not encountered a single soul on her strolls through Mossflower. Her house is somewhere to the south of her current location and the only thing she can do is continue until she reaches it, never mind that she's never been in this part of the woods before, at least not in recent memory. With a sigh she stops, rocks her weight back onto her heels and casually leans her shoulder against a nearby tree to rest. "You're getting old, mate. Day was when you could've been home by now and wouldn't've gotten lost, to boot, hmm?" She isn't anxious, just sore and tired. Amarro glances upwards and shakes her head. There is no time to stop now. The storm is coming and there is nothing else to do but beat it home. Wearily, Amarro pushes away from the tree and trudges onward.

If Amarro could have seen them , the three beasts stalking her would have simply broken cover and rushed her with weapons waving and warcries sounding, but as it is, they remain hidden, edging ever closer to her as she moves. They don't know what kind of skills she posesses; all they know is that they're tracking some dozy squirrel through /their/ woods, and she's not even smart enough to use the trees for cover. When she stops, that's when they make their move, taking advantage of her daydreams to run towards her from behind, a trio of foxes, one of them small and spritely while the other two are more typical of male vulpines. The lithe one bears a strangling noose in one paw, loosening it as he rushes towards Amarro on quiet paws, and when he's close enough, he lets the noose go, intending to get it about her neck and tighten it to just a notch below suffocating. For now, he has to ask Amarro some questions, so killing her, while it would be satisfying, is not his objective.

Amarro yelps as the noose tightens around her neck and instinctively reaches up to grasp at the rope that is cutting into her windpipe. Her right paw reaches for the hilt of her rapier and she draws it in one fluid motion, enjoying the comforting sound of the metal being withdrawn from its sheath. At least she has a little bit of power here, if not much. It takes all of her willpower not to jump right into the fray but she is at a decided disadvantage here what with the noose and she doesn't know how many attackers she's facing. Instead, Amarro backs herself up against a tree and glances around warily, still holding onto the rope around her neck, looking for her attackers. She spots them, the three foxes, and her eyes narrow. "Vermin scum. Release me immediately."

Seeing that the rapier has been drawn despite his best efforts, the fox with the strangling noose decides not to let go, fluidly sliding along with Amarro to the tree, attempting to remain behind her at all times. He's still got a grip, albeit a poor one, on his end of the rope, and he attempts to reach forwards to give the knot another few inches of pressure forwards before barking out. "Shaddap, squirrel! Yer on 'e lan' af 'e Juskaskor! Wha're ya doin' 'ere?" The two other foxes, unable to keep behind her, settle for moving forwards yet staying out of what they think is the thrusting distance for Amarro's rapier. Both of them have their own weapons drawn though, one carrying a serrated dagger, the other, a female, carrying a butcher's knife and cleaver combination. One can only hope that it isn't used for cooking as well as killing.

Amarro isn't a novice at this, thankfully. She eyes the shorter weapons of the other two foxes and takes a choppy breath as the noose is tightened. Fortunately she's still got her paw on the inside of the loop giving her a bit of leeway to breathe. "I'm going home, idiot. And it isn't your land, morons. Now let me go and I'll reconsider torturing you before I kill you." She lays the bravado on nice and thick, with nary a waver in her voice. Her situation, however, is somewhat dire. They've gotten the jump on her and they're more numerous than she. Worse, Amarro can't see the fox behind her and for all she knows he's drawn an equally pointy sort of weapon and it's aimed at her back.

The female cackles at the claim, sliding the edges of her blades together as if she were sharpening them right before a meal. "Hah! She's a bold 'un! Trus' me squirrel, ya keep up 'at talk an' yer not goin' ta be able ta keep breathin', much less do any torturin'!" The vixen steps a bit closer forwards, smirking; she smells faintly of grease and cooking fire, and it's entirely likely that, yes, this is the cook of whatever group these foxes are a part of. Meanwhile, the fox holding onto the strangling noose tries to tighten it a couple of notches and then lifts his leg, intending to jam his knee into Amarro's back. Since he's not the most heavily built thing in the world, he's having to keep both arms on the rope. But his fingers are strong and practiced with ropes and cords of all kind, and he won't be fumbling anytime soon. "Listen ta Cookey an' try ta cooperate, squirrely! She's served up meaner t'ings 'n ya! E'en 'f 'ey're not 'e bes' tastin'!" The vixen snarls and snaps back at her companion, even in a situation like this, "Shaddap, Bagcub!"

Amarro rolls her eyes and sort of steps forward to avoid the scrawny fox behind her, now that she knows he has no weapon other than the stupid rope and, apparently, his knee. Her rapier is much, much longer than the ridiculous set of cooking tools the vixen is carrying and Amarro is very experienced with the weapon, almost to the point of being overconfident with it. The squirrel holds the blade straight out, tip pointed at the cook's throat. The only things that are affected here are her lunge distance and her breathing, otherwise, things aren't looking /too/, too bad. "Drop the cooking utensils, vixen, or I will slice your paws off one at a time and feed them to you." The third fox is still in sight and the blade can move just as quickly in his direction if he chooses to have a go at it himself.

Roseheart chews his lip and walks out, sighing and popping his knuckles as he walks towards the dilema. "And that is wot' a bloomin' fluff ball like ya'self treats othas? Kinda funny, yoo didn't put up a blasted sign air-head. You got to put up a sign you lazy excuse of a gentleman!" He says in mock tone to Heskra.

Defiantly, and with a particularly rotten looking smirk, Cookey reaches out and give Amarro's blade an almost playful slap with her cleaver, a high-pitched "clink" ringing out in the air. As she lifts her improvised weapons, it's clear that they're wicked-sharp and ready to dice up anything that comes too close to her. "I don' see ya comin' o'er 'ere ta try an' do 't, squirrel. C'mon, let me lop off 'at pretty tail af yers! I need a new pot cleaner any'ow." When Roseheart walks up, the attention of the fox who has yet to speak turns to him, his serrated knife leveling at him, the fox seemingly prepared to lunge at him before Cookey jabs him in the ribs with her elbow. "Go get Heskra. Thin's're 'bout ta get interestin'." Reluctantly, the fox nods and dashes off into the woods, running as fast as he can away from the scene, leaving just Bagcub and Cookey to deal with the new threat to the serenity of "their" woods. Bagcub barks out, "Jus' walk away, rabbit. Ya don' wan' ta get 'urt, do ya?" The rope tightens just by just a few more notches as Bagcub speaks, his fingers seemingly only tightening due to the new distraction. Cookey, by this time, has taken a pace back from Amarro so she can look the hare over without getting poked in the back.

This rope thing is getting annoying. Now with the third fox gone and the cook distracted by the handy new hare on the scene, Amarro takes a step sideways and grabs at the rope that leads from her throat to the scrawny little fox and pulls. Hard. Aiming to pull the little fox off balance. Her weapon is held out to the side here, no worries about the fox impaling himself on it, she just needs a little bit of slack to take this fight where it needs to go. "Let /go/ you stupid fox!" She yells as she yanks, using the weight of her entire body in an attempt to throw him off balance.

"Nope!" Roseheart chirrups back, "And hurt? Oh dear, that wont do at all. I've been hurt many times, and let me tell ya'. That guy did nicely with a few herbs and an open fire." He gives a near unnoticable wink at Amarro. "By the way, you shouldn't leave your spoils laying around. I mean really, a big ol' bag of gold by the tree?" He points past Cookey's head with false urgency.

If that pathetic ploy was intended to trick Cookey, the hare is sadly mistaken, and the vixen simply lets out another unpleasant sounding squawk as she takes a step towards the hare, running her thumb against the cleaver to test its sharpness. Yes, it's very very sharp indeed. "Ya don' t'ink yer goin' ta trick me 'at easily, do ya? C'mere an' let me carve ya up, rabbit." Though the "bag of gold" trick didn't get her attention, what does is the sound that Bagcub makes when he's suddenly pulled against Amarro, the fox stumbling and falling onto the ground to Amarro's right side, letting go of the noose in the process. He's stunned for a brief moment, then his paw flies towards the dagger he carries as a backup. Neither his sling nor his snares would be better suited to this situation, despite the fox being far more proficient with them. Suddenly the tables have turned, and what's worse, Bagcub isn't yet on his feet, still trying to get to his knees.

The commotion had set the woods ringing. Ace moves rapidly, but stealthily through the foliage, Tree to tree. His short bow is strung and an arrow is notched on the string, but without tension. He leans up against a tree as he nears the noise. Crouching, he rolls his back off the trunk and peers through the underbrush. Two Foxes, A squirrel and a Hare. The Vermin bore Juska markings. By the more streaked appearance, he judged they were members of the Skor Juska. Curses. It had come to this. Using the wind movement as cover, he slinks closer, until he's within 25 meters of the scene, behind another broad tree trunk. He takes a deep breath and pulls the string to his cheek and then uses the same roll off the trunk to put him in view. Centering the Arrow on the chest of the Fox with the Cleaver, he barks out sharply. "Weapons! Drop 'em! Get on the ground, Juska!"

Amarro is not bothered by this new development. After all, it works in her favor. Kicking out savagely, she aims her right footpaw at the head of the fox on the ground aiming to catch him in the chin and potentially incapacitate him for a bit. The rope is still around her neck and she pulls at it to loosen it and get it off of her head. No point in leaving it there for someone else to grab.

Roseheart lets out a breath and trots over to Amarro and cuts off a length to tie up the smaller fox, kicking the dagger from his paw in the process and giving him a death stare. Which the hare desperately tries to hold without busting out laughing.

The kick Amarro aimed at Bagcub doesn't land on his chin, and unfortunately, all that means is that his wiggling gave Amarro a far more solid shot at the side of his head, and assuredly it stuns him quite well, making him groan and drop his dagger to clutch at his temple. Cookey eyes the drawn bow, giving a shrug and lowering her weapons to her side, not dropping them just yet. "Yer aware yer makin' demands in 'e territory af 'e Juskaskor, righ'? 'at won' end well fer ya." Cookey's ears perk, and she gives far too confident of a grin. "In fac'... I do believe yer luck jus' changed fer 'e wors'." Soon enough what Cookey heard is readily apparent, as a larger group of foxes appears in the distance, moving steadily through the trees with hurried steps. There seem to be twelve of them, carrying everything from spears, to bows, to swords... and at the front is a fox who bears a weapon that none of the others use, the pole flail held to his chest as he sprints towards the bunch of them.

Ace's eyes click in the direction of the oncoming horde. He hisses between his teeth, "Curses!" Then, snapping back to focus his aim on the vixen, he barks at the the woodlanders. "You two! Get moving, further into the woodlands! Move! You... " He keeps the arrow trained on the fox. "Tell Heskra We've let your tribe live in peace. But your actions have gained our notice." He shifts his aim down suddenly and fires into the dirt between the fox's footpaws. Notching another arrow to the bow, he takes general aim at the oncoming horde, all the while taking slow steps in retreat. He fires the arrow. And while reloading, calls out to the squirrel and hare. "Move move move!"

Amarro rolls her eyes at the other hare's commands. Young punks, thinking they can just come in, start yelling things and solve all the problems. Whatever. Turning to the other hare that is handily nearby she leans over just enough so that he can hear her. "You a runner? Nevermind, you are now. Listen, you've got to go and find help. Not the abbey, they're useless there. Go find the Rangers. If you can't find the ones assigned to this area, go find Tristan. He's probably in Ferravale. Go! Now! Run!" In her haste she pushes at him, forcefully encouraging him to move his butt.

Roseheart groans and rolls his eyes, running opposite from the horde and escaping. "Yeah, runner fighter. Wh, Nevermind! Bloomin' bookin' hurry!" He rushes off to find the rangers.

There comes a yelp of pain from someone in the oncoming horde, and one of the foxes crumples and falls to the ground, an arrow protruding from his gut. Snarling, Heskra holds up and arm and calls out, "Halt! Archers... fiyah!" Calling out like that may have completely whiffed the element of surprise, but it does give Cookey a warning to dive down to the ground before six arrows come flying through the air directly at the woodlanders, indiscriminately aiming for anyone they can. After the archers have fired, Heskra calls for another charge, hoping that the arrows might have given the other beasts pause. Even as he moves, he's gesturing, the archers splitting away from the rest of the group and starting to arrange themselves behind trees where they'll be able to take potshots should the need arise. Meanwhile, Heskra's closing the distance rapidly, already pulling back his arm to start swinging his flail. He's close enough now that it would be easy enough to see the dual colored designs on his bod

body.

At the word "Archers" Ace shuffles urgently so that the tree he previously had used to conceal his movement while approaching the scene covers him from the fire. As arrows rattle into the underbrush beside and behind him, he rushes forward to recover the ground he had given on first sighting horde and to get cover directly behind the tree. He he collides, shoulder first, into the tree trunk in his rush for cover. He can't leave while the squirrel is still in harm's way. He yells out, "Get moving, Squirrel!" and leans out to his right just far enough to clear the tree from his line of fire and looses another arrow in the direction of the oncoming beasts. "I'll cover you, but you've got to move!"

Amarro hears the pretentious hare's commands and doesn't give a frog's behind. "Idiot." She mutters. Amarro has ducked behind the handy tree that she's been spending so much time with recently and considers the options. There are far too many Juska for two woodlanders to have any effect on them. Even if she were to take to the trees and escape she'd still have the blood of the hare on her hands because doubtless he'd be overrun by the hoard. "Call off your archers!" Amarro shouts, her voice raspy. "Call them off! I need to talk to Heskra! I'm from the abbey and I have news for him!" She coughs. Hidden behind the tree she can only hope they can hear her but she isn't coming out for anything. "It's about Machlah!" Hopefully the name will prove to be the magic word they need to get out of here.

The second shot from the hare's bow is heading straight for Heskra's face, but with disturbing prescience, he sidesteps, almost as though he were expecting the arrow to head towards him. He lets out a loud fox's scream of a warcry in triumph, but it's cut short when Amarro shouts out. That she knows his name and wishes to talk to him is reason enough to stop, if only to satisfy his curiosity, but that she has information about Machlah... that brings everything to a dead halt. Immediately Heskra shouts out. "'alt! 'alt! Stop yer firin'!" Confusion sets in as the rest of the horde follows the orders they're given, but the reason is beyond them. "Get inta cover! All af ya!" Another strange order. Every single Juskaskor moves behind a tree where they'll be safe from any incoming arrows, except for Heskra. Bold as brass, pole flail carried on his shoulder with the heavy head swinging pendulously behind him, Heskra starts to walk towards the squirrel, stopping in front of the tree, the hare ignored for the time being. "Yer from Redwall? An' ya've got news af Machlah? Well, speak, squirrel!" His voice is rather imperious and commanding, no doubt made that way by years and years of practice.

As the forest falls suddenly and strangely quiet, Ace presses himself flat against the tree, ears pushed back against the bark, straight like flagpoles. A look of disbelief is on his face. He peaks half of his face around the trunk. And and the showing ear flops in further disbelief at the lone horde leader's boldness. Pulling back into cover, he slowly creeps backwards into the foliage for concealment, thanking the fates, that he is downwind of the Juska.

Amarro takes a deep breath and steadies herself, unwilling to give in to the fox's imperious attitude. He can wait a few seconds while she calms down. There. With the point of her rapier held low, Amarro emerges from the protection of the tree and waits for Heskra to approach her. She won't voluntarily be stepping away from a tree as long as she might have need to scale it very quickly. "First of all, I need to know why he was important to you." Amarro levels her gaze at Heskra, unflinching. "Because he was important to me and I will not willingly cause harm to the memory of a friend."

Heskra's voice is harsh and somewhat strained sounding, though still with considerable volume when he needs it. It's the voice of someone who's smoked far too much for their own good, so it's likely that his nose is too weak to scent out the hare's hiding place. Furthermore, his attention is entirely on Amarro now, particularly with her perequitesite. In a show of good will, he stabs the spiked end of his flail into the ground and lets go of it, armed now with nothing but his claws and teeth. He takes a step towards her, this more of an act of defiance, daring her to try and stab him with the rapier. "'e was par' af my tribe. A loyal son af 'e Juskaskor. I knew 'im from when 'e was a kit an' watched 'im grow ta a young malebeas'. 'e was par' af 'is family wi'ou' a single doubt. Now... tell me yer news af 'im. 't's been quite some time since 've seen 'im, an' 'oughts af 'im've bo'ered me ta no end." Heskra gives a melancholy shrug.

Ace moves back and left, circling away from his last known position. But he gives close ear to the exchange. He stops behind a thin vale of vine that entangled the twigs of a shrub before climbing up a birch tree. He's mouthing rapidly to himself, trying to make sense of the situation.

Unimpressed, Amarro barely shifts her weight onto her heels and returns the favor by resting the point of her blade on the toe of one of her boots. It is out of commission for the moment but readily available if necessary. "I regret to inform you that Machlah has passed away." She says flatly, eyes emotionless, still staring at the fox, watching him for any sudden movements. "It was not a.....peaceful death, I am sorry to say, he had come down with some sort of disease that even the best healers at the abbey could not cure. I was there..." But then her voice cracks and she is forced to look away, furious with herself that she can't control the emotion that she is sure is marking her as weak and vulnerable. After a brief moment, Amarro forces herself to look back at the fox. "I was there when he died." She says no more, still infuriated that she couldn't hold it together long enough to break the news to Heskra, a beast she is sure will think her inferior for her weakness.

Heskra is patient for the news, standing in front of Amarro with his arms folded, listening intently and not daring to interrupt. One of his paws does move to his throat as he tries to hide a heavy swallow of sadness. His eyes are still hard and focused, but they seem a bit more distant now, more like he's staring intently through Amarro rather than simply at her. He makes no judgement on the emotion; if anything it tells him volumes about the beast that he's speaking with. At the end, he simply gives her a slow nod and begins his questions. "Did anybeas' try ta ease 'is passin'? Try ta comfor' 'im while he was fadin' away? I... knew af 'e illness, but I didn' know yer abbey couldn' cure 't. I 'ought 'ey 'ad a cure fer e'erythin'."

Ace breathes softly. Which is as much to say: He exists.

Amarro shrugs and almost lets her guard down. In fact, no almost, she does. "We thought so too. But this...thing he had..." Amarro shakes her head. "We still don't know what it was. He started getting very irrational, wouldn't drink water, in the end he tried attacking every beast he saw so we had to lock him up. But until then..." Amarro looks back up at Heskra. "We fed him, made sure he was warm and comfortable, taught him to play chess..." Amarro smiles slightly and looks down, remembering the games they played until Machlah went crazy. "He was happy." She nods.

Again, Heskra is patient, his ears perked and attentive so he can listen to everything Amarro says, drinking in her words. When she's done, he reaches out, intending to give her shoulder a reassuring squeeze, trying his hardest to avoid pricking her with his claws in the process. He's struggling at this point not to let what he truly feels show; only a supreme amount of practice hiding his true feelings from his tribe prevents him from cracking visibly. "Fer wha'e'er 't's wor', thank ya fer at leas' givin' 'im 'at. 'e'll be sorely missed. Nobeas' should die 'at way... 'f yer lookin' fer a name, when we firs' saw 'e illness, we called 't 'e White Madness. Per'aps..." His voice trails off and he calls back to his hiding beasts. "'ow's 'e 'un 'at fell?" There comes a call back from Cookey, "'e's 'urt, but 'e'll live!" Heskra lets out a relieved sigh and nods. "'en 'ere's a lucky beas' somewhere roun' 'ere... 'f 'e'd taken 'un af us, 'at rabbit'd 'ave ta die fer 't. As 't is... I kin let 'im go

fer now, but I 'ave ta insis' 'at ya come wi' me." Trying his hardest to hide that he's essentially capturing her, he adds, "I wan' ta know... e'erythin'. An' I bet ya've got questions af yer own."

"Hare! Can bloody nobeast tell the difference?! Oops..." Ace hunkers lower and darts to another location.

Amarro tenses and does her best to hide the sudden panic she is experiencing by blinking once or twice. The paw reaching for her shoulder is only managed because her mind is racing to figure out how she's going to get out of having to go with them. "Well...you know, I've pretty much told you everything there is to know about Machlah." Amarro tightens her grip on her rapier and imperceptibly lifts the tip off of her boot. "And I have a home to get to and some other beasts waiting for me there." Lies! Curses on having let her guard down! This never would've happened to younger Amarro! Now she feels weak /and/ a fool. The hare's voice drifts into range and she rolls her eyes, wishing she'd never gotten out of bed this morning. "I'm not going with you, Heskra. I will not." There is no violence. Yet.

"Ya know, 'ese're my woods... 'e Juskaskor owns 'em, an' nobeas' knows 'em better'n me." As he speaks, he starts to pace, walking around her in a circle, hoping to get her to turn in place to look at him. He continues this pacing for two circuits, then stops in a completely random location, folding his arms and shrugging. "Ya've got lots ta tell me. A grea' deal af thin's 'at 'm int'rested in. But 'f ya wan' ta go, ya kin try ta go. By 'e by... which way's 'ome agin?" Smugly, the fox folds his arms again, stroking his chin with one paw. Now's the time to see if his little game worked and if Amarro can remember which way she came in from. "Ya migh' as well jus' come wi' us. We'll feed ya, get ya ou' af 'e col', 'en guide ya ou' af our woods. We owe ya 'at much." Heskra may not know where the hare is, but he shouts out to him, relying on his voice to carry its message. "As fer ya, rabbit, ya better get goin' 'fore I muster 'e whole tribe ta look fer ya! Yer intrudin' on my lan'!"

Ace remains silent. He holds his bow level, ready to fire. But there's nothing he can do for the squirrel, now. There are far too many Juska. He lies prone in the underbrush and looks on.

If there's one thing that Amarro knows, it's her directions. She's a squirrel, after all, and not too far from her drey. Even in unfamiliar woods she knows which direction to head, especially when she's in the treetops. She breathes a huge sigh of relief when Heskra stands back. Turning to face him she executes a lovely, flourishing bow and resheathes her weapon. "Well, Heskra, it has been lovely chatting with you and I would love to continue our conversation at a later date. But for now..." She doesn't finish the sentence, instead she leaps with all the strength she can muster and races up the tree trunk she's been so clingy about. If the hare has any brains he'll get out of there while the horde is still messing with her up in the treetops. She wouldn't put it past Heskra to fire any number of arrows up at her and her path is easy to follow in the leafless branches. Speed is of the essence here and she leaps from limb to limb, running for her life.

Heskra is not the type of beast to order someone else to do the work he can do himself, and in this case, he'd prefer it. Amarro is restricting information that he wants very badly, information that the need for has kept him awake at night. Sending off one's beast to an uncertain fate is a difficult call for anyone in a position of authority, but now his chance at peace is skipping away through the treetops! Well, the branches aren't entirely out of reach for him! Quickly he plucks his flail from the ground, biting back a swear as he holds it by the base, aiming a crushing blow at a branch, a particular branch. Ah, there we go. The one she's about to jump on is right... /there/! He swings as hard as he can, and the weighted head of the flail hits the branch with full force, splintering it and causing it to snap like a mere twig. A squirrel, however light, isn't going to be able to put her weight on that without breaking the branch off entirely.

The hare breaks cover and makes a dash in the opposite direction as the squirrel, actually just off the right flank of the concealed horde. He gives an unsuspecting horde-beast a tremendous shove as he passes her concealment tree. It may be enough of a distraction to give the squirrel a chance. Either way, Ace shifts course in a single step and makes for the open meadow.

Amarro is mid-jump when out of the corner of her eye she catches the movement of the flail as it comes crashing through the tree, directly at the branch she was aiming for. It seems impossible, quite the stroke of luck for the fox, but it is happening and Amarro can't do anything to stop it except tense and prepare herself for the long fall. Everything slows down as her paws hit air where there should've been a branch and there is nothing to spring off of. As she begins falling her rapier remains attached thanks to the buckles she's strapped it down with but the bag starts floating in the air, gets snagged on something and rips off over her head, knocking her left arm backward and into a branch. She spins once and then crashes to the ground on her right side. With the wind knocked out of her and a fierce pain shooting up her entire body, all she can hear is a dull ringing and then the world goes fuzzy and black.

Perhaps the last thing that Amarro would hear is a vulpine cry of triumph as Heskra sees her miss the branch, the fox seeming to take a peculiar kind of pleasure in her fall. She'd gone from being an enemy, to being a friend, all the way back to being an enemy, and now she's his captive. He stares down at her as she loses consciousness, his eyes piercing hers. The hare is ignored; all he did was give a shove, after all, and even if the tribesbeast did think of running after the hare, an order from Heskra stops him, "Let 'im go! We've got 'e 'un we wan'ed! Carry 'er back ta camp!"

dun dun DUN