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"Being the late Emperor's daughter won't do much good, I think. She'd be killed the moment she made stepped on Fenrir by the Empress and I doubt there's any remnants that may even recognize her. As the late Emperor's daughter that is."

He cupped his chin for a moment to think things out and focused his eyes on the ground. Th Empress would surely launch an all out attack if Migan made it back to Fenrir especially if she knew who she was. There isn't much they could do at this point, it'll be like crying over spilled milk.

"Things are definitely looking grim I will admit. These usually have a happy ending however, let's just hope this isn't an exception."

Pulling his smokes from his pocket he looked the tent over then decided it a better idea to go blacken his lungs outside.

"Excuse me."

Stepping outside he lit his cigarette and looked ot the sky, it looks the same on Gaia as it does on Fenrir.

Suddenly, behind her, there was the soft sound of a padded footstep, as if someone -- or something -- were creeping up behind the child.

"Rawr," growled an animal-like voice.

Turning, she would see something about her height standing roughly ten feet away, its exact nature unclear in the half-light. A short, furry body. A mess of hair upon its head. Beady black eyes. A large mouth full of sharp teeth. And some sort of blunt instument cradled in arms that were disproportionately long for its stout body.

Doom seemed nigh for the poor, defenseless girl.

The creature wandered closer, growling again, lower this time. "Rawr rah rawr?" it seemed to ask, wandering right up to her. Now that it was closer, she would be able to identify it as . . . as . . .

. . . a Domo?

Indeed, it was. A short, square-like frame covered in brown fur, standing three feet tall. Its arms were longer than was customary for a member of the species, and the blunt 'instrument' that it carried was, of all things, a bright blue Fender Stratocaster guitar.

Oh, and did I mention that this Domo also had a goatee, a thin mustache, and an afro?

"Rawr rah rawr?" it repeated, those white, dangerous-looking teeth gleaming sinisterly as it got uncomfortably close.

The Domo's went cross-eyed for a moment as she kicked him in his no-no place without warning, and his furry little body gracefully traced a short arc through the air before landing not-so-gracefully with a *thump*.

He laid still for a few moments . . . and then cimbed to his feet slowly, grumbling under his breath. "Rahrawrrah rahrawr . . ." (the equivalent of "Rassafrassin' frasser . . .") he grumbled, using the guitar as a crutch while he placed one paw over his aching juncture.

After a few seconds of waiting for the pain to recede, he turned his attention back to the girl, and growled, obviously angry now. Gripping his Stratocaster just above the body, he inverted it, now wielding the instrument like a club in his right paw.

The air had the flavor of an impending midget fight.

*KA-WHANG* his guitar would shout as it struck her across the face like a big wooden fist the moment she stepped in range, after swishing through the air in a speeding arc from right to left.

Silly rabbit. Fair fights are for kids.

The blow wouldn't be hard enough to knock her out or break any bones, since the Domo wasn't a heartless creature (though he was a mad one), but a successful strike would make her head ring and hopefully knock some manners into her. And if that wasn't enough to teach this little punk her place, then perhaps the return swing would, this one aimed at her legs to knock them out from under her and dump her flat on her butt.

Domos disciplined their young strictly. They had to, since a world filled with peers who had short tempers and sharp teeth was not a world for the soft-hearted or -skinned.

The Domo huffed impatiently as she got up. The munchkin was tougher than she looked. Well, htat was okay. It just meant he'd have to work harder to teach her a lesson.

Failing to notice that the girl had left a small crater in a rock floor, mainly because of the dim lighting, the Domo raised his guitar in front of his face to block the punch she wound up, ready to receive her unnatural adult-like strength.

As such, he was unprepared for her unnatural He-Man-like strength and found himself bowling backwards with a faceful of hard wood.

. . . . . No, not that kind of wood. Get your mind out of the gutter, you pervert.

He tumbled end over end into a wall not far behind where he'd originally been standing, ending up in a sitting position. Groaning, he immediately pulled his instrument away from his aching features, in pain but secretly thankful that Domo anatomy did not include a nose.

Though his thoughts were now slightly muddled by the unexpected collision of head and guitar, the furry little creature still had the presence of mind to return his attention to the girl as soon as the Stratocaster was away from his eyes, wary of a follow-up attack.