[Unforgiven Quest] Reflected Within Reflected Without

[Brig]

Brig really hadn’t meant to kill the man. He hardly had the advantage so far as size, if he’d been doing much thinking at all. He’d only meant to put enough of a hurt on him to send him running. And a scare big enough that he’d think twice before doing to another, what he’d be doing to that girl. There was also just a little bit of him that didn’t like his challenge being brushed off as so much noise. And the young, untried Kelvic had, all at once, let loose all that youthful passion on a single unsuspecting soul. His ardor was cooled, if not completely, by the dunking he took in the icy stream when he tumbled off the man’s soggy shoulders. By the time the Kelvic surfaced and began paddling to shore, the man was already off and running, leaving droplets of blood on the stones behind him. The current had carried him a little bit downstream before he pulled himself up on the edge and by the looks of things, he’d managed flesh wounds that would do the man no favors out in the wilds. There was still a little of that passion left to spend, and he charged after the man a handful of yards before he stopped and rose up on his hind legs with a clatter come from deep in his chest. As if to say ’And don’t come back!’ He shook himself off then, sending droplets of water flying and finally looked back to see the girl sobbing and turning to run. He didn’t know how the other kelvics had fared, but she was injured, he knew that she was. No matter what form she was in he thought she wouldn’t get very far herself before something bigger and stronger got her. And for the first time it occurred to him that she might think he, and the others, were some of those bigger and stronger things. He wanted to stop her and make her understand, but he didn’t think chasing her was the best way to do it. If only he could call out and convince her to stop long enough to see that he was no threat. He couldn’t speak for the other Kelvics, but it was neither here nor there. He wasn’t in the best form to do it. He shifted then and there on the shore, gone from drenched coon to crouched man with soggy curls. And he stayed there, as distant now from the battle as she was, rather than chasing after her. ”Wait!” he called out, but never rose up to his full height. ”Don’t run away. We want to help, not hurt.”

[Aman]

Aman Aman realized that his judgment was off only slightly after his paws left the ground. He almost never leaped at an opponent as it left too many openings. But though he didn't hit where he had aimed, he hit a place just as brutal. The mans face. With a ferocity born in the brutality of the eyktolian deserts Aman ripped into the body of the man. Tearing off his nose and inflicting cuts of various degree all about his chest. As the man reeled he managed to grab Aman's neck and throw him to the ground, but quickly fell to the floor himself screaming. As Aman landed he chattered angrily, arching his back and circling the writhing form on the ground. In the deserts you never leave an enemy a chance to come back, the snake may only be wounded. You bite at the neck and you do not let the being go until it stops writhing. And that in short is what Aman did next. He gracefully moved along the ground and latched onto the back of the man's neck. Quickly breaking it with a shake of his head, in a manner that resembled a dog shaking a rope. Aman then looked up as his his eyes began to clear. He saw a little girl running into the woods, she was smelling thickly of fear. But his attention was quickly caught by a flash of light that was followed by a voice. As Aman turned to see who owned this voice, it spoke of how "they" (it seemed to be including Aman) were only here to help and didn't mean her any harm. Realizing that the girl was more than likely afraid of the bloodshed that she had just witnessed, Aman quickly shifted. However this didn't result in any more favorable an appearance. In fact he might have been less intimidating in the form of a Dire Mongoose. Blood stained both his cheeks and his mouth ran heavy with the dark red liquid. His fingertips were stained in the same way, and his jet black eyes gave off the appearance of a heartless individual. Aman was often mistaken for one who hated everything, one who wanted solitude, and was to be mistrusted at best. This couldn't be farther from his actual feelings, but because of his appearance and lack of social knowledge this initial impression often came. He looked on anxiously, not wanting to call any more attention to himself than he already had. Hoping that the young girl's fear might be stayed, and that she would come back to those who would be her friends.