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Biroki and Kaalnia ran, trying to put distance between them and the hoarde of Obans. They darted amidst the trees, their homeland giving them the needed advantage of speed and hiding.

Biroki covered their egress with a few fireballs and well-placed exploding leyline traps and, for a moment, the two thought they had made it out of the fray.

just in time Biroki realized with a start. He was low on magic, the blazing inferno inside him now a mere campfire. He had never used so much magic at once and, bizzarely, he felt cold with it removed.

Kaalnia rested, gasping, on a tree. Her wounds were superficial – only skin deep, if even that. “You all right?” she asked the mage.

“Mmm.” Biroki checked over his dark skin: as far as he could tell he was fine, other than the expenditure of his magic. “I'm all right. What about you?” Now, out of the distraction of battle, Biroki could see that the Alkidike warrior was young – younger than him.

Kaalnia shrugged. “I've been worse.” she said, “So... I guess we lost, huh?”

“I g...” Biroki paused at the first sign of his stammer, feeling himself deflate like a Jahuaran gas pod. “I guess we have.”

“Damn. I felt for sure we would win.” said Kaalnia, “We were all there, all strong, and we're in the right, aren't we?” she looked at Biroki for affirmation. “But I guess not, huh?”

“I think we're right...” said Biroki, letting himself slide down to the roots of one of the great trees. He was tired, so tired – it was an exhaustion that was more than physical as anger died away and left emptiness and despair in its place. “These our our h-homes, our families...” he shrugged. “We lost, though. That much is clear.”

Kaalnia was quiet. “Yeah.” Her antennae twitched as a strange vibration reached them. “Hang on.” she said, standing at ready again, her spear levelled in the general direction of the source.

Biroki heard nothing, but he knew that that didn't mean it wasn't there. “What is it?” he said, taking up his staff and drawing out his remaining magic – he still had enough to kill an Oban or two, to fry them to a crisp.

A raptrix, wiry and scarred, leapt from it's brush cover, it's talons sharp in the Jahuar glow. Biroki dodged out of the way.

Kaalnia yelled out and struck with her spear, her side scored by the beast's talons.

The beast was not alone. A rider sat on top of it, smirking in that smug way that obans had, his eyes as hungry as his raptrix's as he looked at the injured Alkidike. “Do yourselves a favor,” he said, reigning in his raptrix and posing with his lance, “Turn yourselves over to me.”

“And?” said Biroki, delaying as he set a leyline of fire around the man.

“And you'll be treated well.” he patted the raptrix, who snarled, “And you won't be food to my raptrix. How about it?” He was confident, and Biroki hated him.

“Well.” said Biroki, “Now about... No.” He sent a gout of flame at the man from an outstretched hand, triggering the leyline into an inferno of death. The Raptrix howled as it's fur and feathers and flesh were set ablaze, it's rider catapulting himself off of his dying beast...

Onto Kaalnia's spear.

As the flames died down to meat and smoke and charcoal and embers, Kaalnia stared at the dying man pierced on her weapon. She made a small sound: of horror or relief, she did not know.

Biroki – still warm from his magic – tapped her arm. “Come on.” he said, “Let's go.”

With effort – and help from Biroki – she extracted the Oban from her spear, and the two faded into the Jahuar twilight.

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