His heart thundered in his chest. His mouth parted to make way for frantic gasps, paws thumping against the damp earth with such urgency the trees seemed to reel back in his wake. His pursuers were fast but he was faster, and despite his size he was surprisingly athletic. The twisted, gnarled territory of the swamp was one unfamiliar, but there was a rhythm to the forest, and soon gnarled roots and fallen logs interrupted his path in predictable patterns.

A few twists, and some more turns, and Rhys suddenly did not hear their shouts so close to his ears, did not feel the gnash of their teeth against his fleeing ankles. Their angry howls dissipated into the wails of cicadas and croaks of frogs. But Rhys was nowhere safe yet, and he had only bought himself enough time to find someplace to hide. For what he made up for in speed, he lacked in endurance.

And what he made up for in cunning, he lacked in perception.

He saw the promising furl of a hollowed log, with just enough space underneath to shield him from view.

He did not see @Elara.

Not until he'd practically barreled straight into her.

It was not a collision that had sent Rhys tumbling into the ground. Whether he slams into Elara or not does not alter the course of his descent; for it is his own feet he trips over, struggling to skid to a stop that could not happen fast enough. His unflattering tumble into the underbrush was equal parts embarrassing as it was loud, and whatever time he had bought was quickly snatched back.

He has no time to think, no time to consider, no time to breathe.

Get down! he shouts as he backs underneath the tree, hoping she could muster enough trust in that half-second to humor his frantic command.

The last thing he wanted was to stare down the maw of five hungry men.

Especially since he was the one who stole it right from under them.

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She had never been particularly fond of swamps, with their swarms of nipping insects and the relentless mud that clung stubbornly to her legs. She contemplated the practicality of setting up a garden to avoid these muddy excursions, Elara's focus remained intently on the flora beneath her.

Her quiet exploration was abruptly interrupted by a crescendo of movement nearby. Initially, she only flicked an ear towards the disturbance, her mind still entwined with thoughts of the greens. It was only when the sounds escalated alarmingly close that she turned—too late to avoid the incoming chaos. Her heart raced as a massive figure barrelled toward her, her instincts screaming for her to move. She barely managed to sidestep, the collision sending her tumbling into the muck, cushioned slightly by the forgiving mud.

As she gathered herself, shaken but alert, she wanted to assess the other individual, concern etched across her features. Before she could ask if they were alright, his urgent command to "Get down!" cut through her confusion. With little hesitation, Elara dropped herself against the damp earth beneath a gnarled root. She hoped her tawny fur would blend with the swampy shadows as she lay low, her breath quiet and measured. Once settled, she cautiously peeked over to the newcomer, for she was unsure exactly why they were hiding.

@Rhys

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code by loki

Rhys' line of work requires many things: Cunning, charm, a little battle expertise, and a healthy amount of luck.

Mercifully, for Rhys, he was a very lucky man.

A wave of adrenaline-fueled satisfaction washes over him as @Elara ducks into safety, forgoing questions in favor of action. His eyes train on her, but the rest of him is alert on their surroundings. He listens for the thunder of heavy, frantic footfalls. He feels for the shudder of bushes and twigs as they bend and snap to make room. He waits as they come closer, and closer, and closer.

And then, he sucks in a breath.

A moment passes. Then two. So agonizingly slow, he begins to wonder if they can hear his heartbeat.

Finally, it begins to dwindle. The sound of defeat echoes from the trees as his pursuers return from the way they came. Rhys waits many more moments after the swamp had gone quiet before he finally pulls himself from his hiding place beneath the log. He quickly shimmies over toward Elara's hovel, extending a hand to help her to her feet, if she were not already.

Color me impressed, sadiqi, he smiles, the glint of a single canine peeking from beneath his scar. Were it not for you—well—doubt it was a fight I could win outright.

He would have found a way to win it. He always did. But escaping was so much easier.

---

¹ My friend

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Her heart had barely settled from the initial shock as her instincts made her feel like a shivering fawn, wishing to melt into the backdrop while hiding away from the thunderous chaos not too far ahead. It took a couple of blinks to register that she was still in Amaryllis when the silence fell again. Whatever the source of the noise was, it was now retreating, and the swamp's ambiance reclaimed its place. Her teal gaze fixated hard in the direction from which they had come until she noticed the movement beside her and saw an extended paw being offered.

Shaking her memories away, she gave an ear flick to give her silent gratitude as she accepted his aid. Rising to her feet, her head tilted slightly as he spoke an unfamiliar word. "Sadiqi?" she parroted, the term feeling less natural on her tongue than his.

Grateful for the respite yet quietly intrigued by the mention of evading conflict, her attention drifted back toward where the noise had retreated. "Well, I'm glad to have helped avoid such a confrontation," she chirped finally, opposed to violence herself. "Why were they after you?"

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code by loki

Sadiqi? she repeats, and Rhys' lips tug into a brief, apologetic smile. Ah, yeah—new place, new people. Sand and sun and stretches of harsh territory was the same here as it was anywhere, but its inhabitants are entirely stranger to him, as is their culture, their language. Rhys has a lot of learning to do, but there are few men like him who are up to the challenge.

If he wants to succeed, he'll need to start making as many allies as he does enemies.

Friend, he purrs in reply, tipping his head in @Elara's direction. Which I hope we might be, now that you've saved my life.

Better to owe her a favor than to endure whatever his pursuers had in store.

Well, I'm glad to have helped avoid such a confrontation, she continues as Rhys slowly eases himself onto his rump, smoothing down a few wild strands of mane with his paw. Why were they after you?

I took something they wanted, he replies with a crisp casualness. His shoulders roll up and back, creaking his neck in a satisfying relaxation of once-tense muscles. I tried explaining finder's keeper's. You saw how well that went.

Even here, there was no honor among thieves. Thankfully, Rhys already knew all their tricks. If Kvare, of all people, could find success in this peninsula, than it stood little chance against his bastard son.

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Elara perked up as he translated the term. "Oh, friend!" Her voice trilled with delight, pleased by the meaning behind the word. "I would like that very much," she chirped, the idea of turning down an offer of friendship far from her mind—the more friendly faces, the better. "My name is Elara, it's lovely to meet you," she introduced herself warmly, noticing that the tension seemed to dissipate from the massive man as the absence of his pursuers became apparent.

She stepped a bit closer, her head tilting as she listened intently to his explanation for the chase. "Oh, what was it that you took? Surely it wasn't anything to warrant such hostility," she inquired curiously with a soft furrow of her brow. Although she considered taking things from others impolite, she couldn't think of anything that might justify such a fierce reaction from his adversaries.

@Rhys

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code by loki

She was soft. Too soft. Suspiciously soft.

His face is contorted in all manner of sudden suspicion, making no effort to hide the skepticism that lingers like a playful note in his tone. Yet, there is nothing repelling about @Elara; he finds her demeanor rather endearing. The world did not often let kind things live unscathed, and Rhys was not the sort of man who would be the one to ruin it, if he could help it.

My name is Elara, it's lovely to meet you.

Rhys, he purrs in reply. Nice to meet you too, Elara.

She takes a step closer. He takes note—he always takes note. He is a scoundrel and a vagabond and he always knows what's in the corner of his eye. But it is entirely innocent, as if as innate as breathing. So he pulls his thief eyes to hers.

Oh, what was it that you took? Surely it wasn't anything to warrant such hostility.

This, eazizi, he croons, slipping a glittering sapphire into her palm. It is much too bad they were not first.

He wonders idly if she'll take off with it. He so very much enjoys a chase.

But then he wonders if she truly is as kind and soft as she portrays herself, and if he might find himself on the wrong side of her awe.

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