A/N: This is a segment of a roleplaying thread at Fort Ruddler's RPG boards. This one is a two-part thread beginning in the Sparring Grounds and ending at the Common Room. I edited spelling and grammar mistakes for the most part, but by and large I did not touch the dialogue. The only character I wrote the part of was Riala. The parts of Mackbry and Teltoli were written by their respective players.

Fort Ruddler - Sparring Grounds

A red-brown squirrel leans against a wall, half-concealed by the shadows cast by torchlight, the only sign of movement being the slight sideways flicker of her tail. Shadowed gold-brown eyes watch the various sparring creatures critically, and she stands with one scarred paw resting on the curious short, thick, slightly curved dark brown hardwood stick tucked into her belt. A long cord attached to one end of the stick is coiled next to a plain but well-used and well-made dagger. The many scars of past battles show that this squirrel is a veteran of war, no stranger to fighting. Wiry muscles beneath a mottled forest-green-and-brown tunic show that she's as physically fit as any squirrel, and more so than some. She continues to watch, doing little more than leaning against the wall and observing.

Teltoli notices the squirrel and makes his way towards her. Upon reaching her he smiles and tips his ears towards her. "Lo there Riala, how have yah been? If yer lookin fer a jolly ol spar I'd be more then willin teh take one up with yah. What deh yah say?"

Hares, hares, a plague of hares... Riala thinks wryly as Teltoli walks up to her. She shrugs, taking out her roce and her dagger, winding the roce cord about her paw. "Why not?" the squirrel returns. "Shall we move to somewhere with more space, rather than by here by the wall?"

The hare grins offhandedly and nods to a sparring ring more towards the center of the grounds. It is a large pit with a short layer of sand covering the ground. "How bout that ring ovah there?"

The hare glances at Riala's weapon as they walk over to the ring. "How exactly do you use that again? I remember watchin' y'practice out on the the shore but could yah refresh me memory wot?

At Teltoli's suggestion of using the ring to spar at, Riala shrugged noncommittally. "Looks good to me," she agreed, walking over to the sparring ring alongside the hare.

However, when Tel asked about how the short, thick hardwood stick was used, the squirrel grinned and shook her head. "In a battlefield, you won't know what all the weapons wielded by your enemy will do, now will you? At least, not the more unusual ones. So I think you can wait until you see how my roce is used." She leapt easily over the ring's border with the natural ease of her species and turned to Tel. "Well, what are you waiting for? Let's begin!" The squirrel drew into a fighter's crouch, wary and ready to move at a moment's notice.

Tel quiets down considerably as Riala speaks. He seems suddenly to loose his jovial edge as he realizes that the squirrel does not joke around. He checks his dirk in his belt and pulls his javelin from it's back holster. He takes the ring's border in a bound and lands in a crouch in the soft sand. He holds his javelin in a double-pawed hold, horizontally in front of his body. His muscles tense as he steels himself for hard sparring. "All right then, let's begin, wot!" The hare nods his head briefly signaling the beginning of the spar and recognizing his sparring partner. He moves forward easily with the javelin resting lightly in his paws. Suddenly he moves forward and snaps out the lower bladed end of his weapon, moving quickly to the right as he does so.

Riala clears her mind of all else but the sparring match, focusing intently on her opponent. Thought becomes action, well-honed reflexes sending her leaping backwards with all the agility of her species, the blade whistling a hair's length from her leg. The squirrel crouches warily, reassessing the hare. He was faster than she'd first thought...

Without any warning besides the twitch of lean, hard muscle and a slight shifting of feet, Riala whirls, her roce whipping a whisker's length from Teltoli's face, her dagger flashing in her other paw as she continued the full-length spin. The steel was aimed low, down by the hare's knees, and then the squirrel returned to her original ready crouch, gold-brown eyes intent on the hare's, not checking to see if her blade had struck flesh or not, waiting for his next move. She was still assessing him, testing his reflexes and his fighting style. Soon the squirrel would begin to spar in deadly earnest.

The hare is galvanized into action as the squirrel reacts with the speed and determination he had thought she might. Tel quickly plants his right foot as he moves to the right and stops. Flipping his javelin into a quick half vertical hold the hare moves with battle quicken speed. He grimaces as he ducks, hearing the wind whistle directly above his now flattened back ears as the roce passes over head. He jams his javelin forward quickly towards Riala and twists it quickly down to block the dagger. As Riala moves into a crouch the hare is careful to keep his eyes locked on hers. He lunges forward suddenly, up and forward with the top blade of his weapon, striking at the squirrels side roce arm. He plants his left footpaw forward for his attack and then springs back lightly into standing position a few paces back.

The squirrel flings herself into a sideways roll as Teltoli begins to move. She uses her momentum to bring her to her footpaws, noting with a detached sort of surprise that her tunic sleeve has been sliced by the javelin blade. A thin line of blood stains her red-brown fur. Riala tests the arm, relieved that it's only a shallow cut and shouldn't hamper her fighting. Besides- she's fought with worse wounds.

The cautious probing of the hare's ability is done with. The squirrel empties her mind of thought, of calculation, letting her reflexes be unhindered by her mind. She forgets that this is a sparring match only, slipping into the deadly, unthinking, unfeeling state of battle. No time to think- only time to act and react. Her only thought, the one that directs her roce and her dagger, is that Teltoli is her opponent. Her goal: Defeat Teltoli... and in Riala's mind, defeat is synonymous with destroy. The squirrel lets out a length of cord, and the stick hangs loose from her paw. With an almost imperceptible flick of that selfsame paw, she sends the roce into a whistling spin. She moves forward quickly, the stick lashing out at the end of its cord for Teltoli's ribs. Her other paw holds her dagger, and it lunges for his face.

Tel allows his body to take over as the spar continues. He senses that the squirrel is no longer concerned with inflicting harm on her sparring partner. Although she is one of the more fierce fighters Tel has faced, he has faced many and lived to tell. Years of practice and experience begin to take over the hare as he too falls into the crimson vision of battle. He stands his ground as Riala advances, neither giving nor taking any ground. As she nears the hare focuses himself on the squirrel's eyes and not on the whirring stick in her paw. As Riala releases the roce in attack, Tel moves back, just out of range of the swing. He weaves to the side, narrowly missing the attack to his face. He grimaces slightly as the dagger draws a thin line of blood down from his shoulder. He swings the bladed top end of his weapon under the dagger arm as he moves to the side, hoping to cut the squirrel's side, under her arm.

The blade bites into Riala's side, but she ignores the pain. It's not too deep, and in battle mentality, she doesn't even feel it. The squirrel attacks like a wild thing, closing in on Teltoli, beneath the reach of his javelin. The disadvantage with polearms was that if one's opponent was too close, it was hard to bring the blade around to slice one's opponent... She slashes upwards with her dagger, in towards his gut.

The hare falters for a split second as his blade strikes Riala. He slips from the mind frame of battle as he realizes he has wounded a fellow Ruddler member. He moves in numbed paces for a moment, something he learned in battle. Even when your mind is drawn away, your body must continue to fight at any cost. He speaks with a startled voice as the javelin cuts the squirrel. "Oh I say...!"

He move back in a quick hop skip as the squirrel attempts to come under his weapon. being well versed in the javelin he is well aware of it's weakness in close quarters. Riala's blade barely misses his body, shearing the air fraction away from the hare's chest. He raises his javelin in a horizontal double paw hold as the squirrel attacks and then brings it down into a flip vertical hold, hoping to crack the haft down on the squirrel's arm as it moves from horizontal to vertical in his paws.

Even through the haze of unthinking battle-mind, the earlier wound taken from the javelin blade had reached the squirrel. Riala is not nearly so careless now. She twists sideways, the haft of the javelin merely striking her arm a glancing blow, nothing to impede movement. She feints left with the dagger, and then downwards. With all the speed and agility of her species, she lashes out with her roce towards Tel's head, even as the feint is completed and proved not to be an actual thrust.

Tel's experience causes him to shift away from the dagger. The instincts of a long range weapon fighter keeps the hare moving so hopefully the dagger cannot get to close in on his body. He moves to the side as Riala feints with her dagger. Keeping his attention focused on the middle ground the hare sees the whirring roce at the last possible moment. He moves even further to the side in a duck roll as the roce goes over head. He feels a sharp pain run down his neck as the roce clips both his ears. He refuses to come to terms with the pain in his ears and hop skips forward, javelin held in a point first position. He moves in, to a distance that cannot be reached by dagger and weaves the point once. Suddenly he thrusts hard forward, bringing his left footpaw forward, and resting on toe tips to spring back quickly after the attack, and hopefully avoid a possible roce swing. The thrust moves from a low position (around right hip height) across to a high position (around left shoulder height).

The feint with the javelin catches Riala by surprise, and she barely gets her roce up in time to parry the blow. It slices a gash in her tunic, and a thin line of blood stains her fur a shade closer to black than its usual red-brown. It's only a scratch, though, and she ignores it as she has the other scores on her person. The squirrel lashes out with one footpaw at Teltoli's gut, a perhaps surprising move as she hasn't used anything besides her roce and dagger as weapons thus far, and then pivots on her other paw. She throws her stick with all of her force and the force of her spin behind it, and it streaks in a tumbling spin for Tel's head. Not waiting to see if it hits, Riala flings herself after the stick, dagger aimed towards the hare and making her tackle deadly.

The hare's eyesglint dangerously as the spar continues with deadly fury. Tel had never been in such a deadly spar before and it took all his strength to keep his battle blood from whipping him into true life and death fighting. He presses back off his forward paw into a full standing position and thrusts down the lower blade of his javelin as the sqiurrel kicks out, hoping to block the footpaw with the blade of his weapon. He still has the javelin in a low vertical hold as the roce whips out at a blurring speed. The hare's bright eyes follow the weapon as it streaks out. He moves back and to the side as fast as possible but the stick clips him hard on his temple. His head begins to thump hard and the hare feels himself losing his balance. He takes a knee and thrusts his javelin to the side to signal a break in the spar. Mentally the hare hopes that Riala will see he is calling a respite and does not kill him.

"Oh, jolly well got me there marm... jolly... well... got me... uh..."

The hare places a paw to the side of his head, feeling blood running through the fur. The blow is not deadly, not even close to that but Tel decided better to be safe than sorry with head injuries. He slumps to the side, crossing his legs and holding his head. Knowing that laying down will make his injury worse, the hare waits for the pounding to subside. He looks up at Riala after a moment, the normal glint in his bright eyes dulled in pain. "I say, got me a good one with that stick o yer's, prime weapon wot..."

Still locked in the unthinking savagery of battle, Riala continues her tackle, blade flashing a hair away from Teltoli's throat. Perhaps it was the hare's setting aside of his javelin that stayed her paw; more likely it was a lurking vestige of reason and awareness that tugged at the corners of the veil of battle-fury. Slowly the savage light falls away from the squirrel's eyes, and conscious thought comes flooding through the rip in the veil of instincts. Gold-brown eyes widen in shock as she sees the blood on Teltoli's head, and she stumbles backwards when she realizes what she has been doing. Riala flings away her dagger as if it had burned her, eyes wild with near-disbelief.

"What have I..." The unfinished sentence trickles from her lips in a whisper of fear, though not for any physical danger. It's a fear of the shadowy depths of her soul, shadows she'd thought she could control... darkness she'd thought she could live with. She'd accepted them as an irreversible portion of her self, named and known the unthinking savagery she contained within her- but she'd never thought that those mindless instincts would cause her to wound a goodbeast.

With a strangled cry like that of a wild thing who had just discovered the chains that bound it, Riala whirls and runs, racing away from the sparring grounds, footpaws pounding the earth as if she could flee from her very self.

The hare sits still for a few minutes, willing the pain in his head to subside. Through lightly blurred vision he watches as the squirrel whirls away. After a while the hare feels he is ready to stand. He whips a clean cloth from his jerkin pocket and soaks it in the barley water he keeps in a flask at his side. Places the makeshift bandage on his head Tel stands gingerly and stows his javelin. "I say wot! Jolly well good hit there...where has she gone...bettah find the lass...don't want er' feelin' bad bout clockin' me...twill jest make me faster in the future wot!"

The hare gathers his things and heads towards the outside of the battle ring. On the way he notices Riala's roce and dagger. Grabbing the both the hare strides out across Ruddler grounds looking for his sparring partner.


Fort Ruddler Common Room - Platoon 4 Barracks

A red-brown squirrel bursts into the common room, gold-brown eyes wild, a myriad of mixed emotions on her scarred features. It seems she's added a few scars, as well- small amounts of blood stain her mottled green-and-brown tunic. Her rust-gold tail lashes in agitation, and every muscle is tensed as if ready to fight- but against whom? Or what?

To those who know the squirrel, the strangely intense fear and even revulsion in her normally expressionless face is frighteningly alien. Just as startling is the absence of her dagger and throwing club, normally tucked into her cord belt. She stares wildly from face to face, and then with a strangled cry, she races into the unlit barracks, still running from the inescapable - still attempting to run away from the darkness within herself.

After asking a few beats Tel finds that Riala had come to the common room. The hare enters, blood soaking through the self-made bandage about his features. Although the hare is in some pain, his expression only reveals concern for his sparring partner and her whereabouts. The hare hopes he had not done anything to make her react so. After asking about again, Tel is referred to the barracks. He grabs a tall glass of fresh water and heads over to the barracks. Tel sits, his back against a porch pole outside of the barracks. After sipping the water for a few minutes the hare calls out, hoping Riala would hear.

"I say wot! Fine eve this is turnin out tah be an no mistake. Nice cool water after a good spar. Jolly well fine day..." Tel hopes that Riala would respond to his casual words. He sips the water, wondering what had caused such a reaction from her.

Within the barracks, Riala leans against the cool stone wall, eyes closed as she finally begins to force away her initial panic- or at least bottle it up, as she does so well with all other emotions. She flinches as she hears Teltoli's call, a shudder gripping hold of her scarred body. He's not upset, she can tell that- but he's a hare. Her mouth twists into something that could not be called a smile by any account, and she remains silent, breathing deep in a desperate battle with her soul. Scarred paws tighten around blood-stained arms, an attempt to quell the shivering that had come with the full realization of the darkest depths of her self.

A hare watches Riala quietly from the nearby shadows, her flute held lightly in one paw. She is all but invisible in her brown tunic and gray cloak, though her fine brown eyes are dark with a strange sadness. She is no stranger to fear and pain; she has seen too much of it on her own wanderings. Stormflower twitches an ear as Teltoli approaches, and her eyes mist over. She has seen something like this, not so very long ago, and the memory never left her. For a long moment, she is lost in her thoughts. She sees again the bloodied shore, and the little otter, trying so hard to be brave beside his dying father...

Almost subconciously, she lifts the flute to her mouth. The little one played a tune for his lost clan that day, a song that expressed more than anything what he saw and felt. The melody burned itself into Stormflower's mind then; but it is not the tune that she plays now. The hare alters the notes, toying with them as she can. The song is a sad one, tinged with sorrow and loss. But under the pain, there seems to be a promise, a promise of brighter days and newer joys, of winter that has gone, passed away, and of spring that has come...

The hare continued to sit with his back against the porch pole. The bleeding on his temple was subsiding now due to the pressure Tel had been applying to the area while he sipped at his water. His ears twich as music began to issue from somewhere deep in the shadows of the barracks. The hare listens for a bit. Although he is jaunty and jovial by nature he as well knows what it feels like to be searching for oneself. He begins to suspect that this may be what is wrong with Riala. He had seen a strange darkness in his friend's eyes as she fought him. Tel began to realize that the way the squirrel reacted was not just from hurting him, but something deep that had scarred her in the past. The hare was determined to help the squirrel over come this if he could, after all, he now regarded Riala as a friend.

Toying with Riala's dagger the hare spoke out loud to himself, his bright eyes shining deeply as the dying rays of the sun fell upon them. "Battle, blood, weapons, war...does strange things to a beast it does...one can lose 'imself in th' past, they think it might control their future. Truth be told, it will if'n yah let it. Tis an odd path all real fighters must traverse..."

The hare speaks with knowledge that defies his regular moods. He has obviously learned about hard situations in his past. Though he does not claim to have the same feelings about himself as Riala, he begins to understand where she is coming from after some thought. Teltoli sits, watching the grounds of Ruddler grow pink with the falling sun, golden dust motes wafting on the warm southern breezes.

A small creak is heard as the door to Platoon Five barracks slowly opens. A sleepy-eyed, older gray hare exits, groggily yawning as he adjusts the slanted blue cap on his silver headfur. He pins his blue cloak together with a small, detailed brooch shaped almost like a spiral. Mack hefts his spear over his shoulder and starts for the tunnel leading to the common room when a sad tune met his gray ears. He turns towards the entrance to Platoon Four barracks and is surprised to find two fellow hares in front of it, one of which he recognizes.

"Oh, why hello Tel m'boyo!" he calls out cheerfully, the situation unknown to him. "Been awhile since I seen the likes of yerself. Eh...y'get locked out? Jest takes a tweedle of a dagger t'open barrack doors, show you if y'like."

The squirrel closes her eyes as the music crescendos over her, bringing buried memories and hidden thoughts to the surface. She slides down the wall until she's sitting with her back against it. As Teltoli finishes speaking, she draws in a shuddering breath and shakes her head, although she knows he can't see the gesture. "It's not that... not entirely," Riala tells him quietly, voice managing to carry beyond the closed barrack door. "It's just... I..." She flinches against the memory of her unthinking, savage attack against a goodbeast; a friendly spar that had escalated into a battle of life-and-death in her instinct-driven mind. She had fought to kill, even though she was not fighting a true enemy...

Stormflower stills the tune slowly, gradually drawing the melody to a close. For a moment, she is silent, then she speaks from the shadows. "The key to victory may be in having no care for the other's life, to have mastery with the blade is to throw all other thought and emotion away. But have no fear, squirrel, though I know not your name; the moment has passed and the bloodlust is gone. I will be at the Harbor with my flute. You may come if you wish." There is a flicker in the shadows, and the hare is gone.

Mack starts at Riala's voice, but the seriousness of the situation suddenly dawns on him. But he is in a good mood, having just waken from his afternoon nap, and does not intend to lose his merriment. He turns to Tel, explaining. "If y'don't know her past, then I won't be the one to tell you. But tis sad, no doubt about that, and she was robbed of her parents at a very young age. She's carried hate for many seasons of her poor life."

Strangely, a small, half-smile spreads across his face as something had struck him. Mack speaks towards the closed door in a hushed tone, but loud enough for the squirrel inside to hear. "Riala, tis jest struck me. Yer right, that one time in the tavern, y'were right. Y'can't erase yer hate....Tis jest like an' ol' poem that's been passed down the Taffellappen line fer many generations says. Tis been many seasons an' seasons since any real grief has taken my family, but there is a poem I used t'here when I was a young one. Mayhap t'will help."

"The color of hate is the black ink that spills on the sheet of life.
It spreads, covering the sheet with the sticky solution and weakening it.
The black is the first thing that draws the eye, blocking out all recollection of what is behind it.

The ink dries, leaving the sheet marred with black, turning the heart to ice.
The black does not rub away, it does not become faded for it is blacker than the shadows of night.
All hope for the sheet to return to its original form is forgotten, the ink sticking permanently to remind it of dark times.

But the day yet comes when a paintbrush is dipped into white, spread thick on our sheet of life.
The blackness remains, but is buried beneath white, it is not seen, it is forgotten.
Pink and blue, green and red, more colors are added as the once black sheet turns bright.
A life is regained, a beauty unleashed, a hatred forgotten, and colors untold added to black.

The color of hate is the black ink that spills on the sheet of life.
The color of life is the white that brushes over the black.
And the color of friendship are the many colors that block away the black forever."


Long seconds passed as he finishes it, surprising even himself that he could remember words spoken many seasons ago. With a strangely content sigh, Mack sits down on the doorstep to the barracks, somehow seeming proud of himself.

Teltoli listens closely as Riala speaks. Never having heard the tale of his matey's past he finds him self slightly relieved as Mack began to speak to her. After listening to Mack's poem, he looks up at the older hare as Mackbry sits down on the porch. "Tis true, those words yah spoke Mack... "

Riala listens with closed eyes, tight bands gripping her heart in a vise as Mackbry recites the poem. "Thank you, Mack..." she says finally, after he finishes and a few moments pass in silence. "It's just..." The squirrel hesitates, her next words addressed perhaps to the two hares, perhaps to herself, perhaps to nobeast in particular. "...I've known for a long time that I held this... darkness inside me. Mercilessness, coldness, hatred... It's been a part of me for so long that I had grown to accept it. Even take a sort of perverse pride in it... It's what makes me the fighter I am." She shakes her head slowly, though she knows Mackbry and Teltoli can't see the motion. "But I never thought it could get so out of paw. Not so much that I'd attack a goodbeast like I'd fight vermin. Not so much that I'd come close to trying to kill a friend... all because I'd dropped all emotion and thought so that I could fight better. It's the only way I know how to fight. Wholly and completely, without holding back... and I fought this way against a goodbeast."

"What if that happens again, but at war, in battle? What if I hurt a friend... even kill a friend... while fighting vermin in that state of mind? Because I can't help fighting that way. Fighting with complete and unhindered bloodlust. I can't stop it... I take my weapons in my paws and fight and suddenly all thought is gone into only action and I can't recognize friend from foe... What if, next time, I don't remember myself in time to stop myself from killing somebeast... from killing a friend?" She falls silent then, out of words, wrung dry by unaccustomed emotion and the intensity of uncharacteristic speech. Riala leans against the wall again, eyes closed once more, wondering what her friends could think of her now...

Mack shakes his silver-furred head, his mood dropping as he had hoped it wouldn't. He sighs; his poem had obviously affected the squirrel, but would it change her? "That's what friendship changes, m'gel. When yer really a friend to somebeast, an' you've no hate bundled up inside of you anymore, then you don't have t'fight like a madbeast. Y'may kill faster that way, but 'tis a hazard to any near. When yer aware of yerself when fighting, you know the right creatures to hurt."

He sighs, a small smile threading its way across his face as he leans against the door. The older hare seems almost as if in a daze, remembering the good things of life. "That's friends, they....they....make you whole. Without friends a beast's life is lonely, forlorn, unwanted. When my parents died in a snowfall, I felt unwanted, lonely, deperate t'jest open up t'some beast an' cry, jest pour my heart out to them, jest to tell somebeast about my troubles; not my story, my troubles. I did, an' suddenly any feelings of hate I might have had for my parents leaving my were gone, I felt better, much better, an' all because of friends. They banish any hate from a beast's life, they make creatures laugh, they make them smile....they make them love." Mack's last words are whispered, barely audible when heard through a wooden door, and his voice seems cracked by emotion; a great sadness and pity for his young friend, a yearning for her to be happy.

The hare sits, staring off into the dusty grounds of the Ruddler barracks area. He sighs quietly as Mack spoke, once again agreeing completely with the older hare. Still having both his parents, Tel can only imagine the grief of losing them, especially in an accident situation. The hare felt the sadness of his two friends, but firmly held a thin smile on his features. A far off look in his eyes reflected the fading rays of the sun as he speaks. "What Mack says is true Riala...an we're both yer friends if yah need us in any way. Mayhap, we kin try a spar again. Take it slow, learn tah control yer feelings an' focus yer concentration in battle..."

The hare toys with Riala's dagger as he spoke, her roce laying neatly coiled at his side. "Yah er' a great fighter though m'gel, I'll give yah that. T'would be a shame tah let such talent go tah waste. Take time, move slowly, and learn t'channel yerself wot!"

Riala waits for her two friends to finish speaking, gradually composing herself and pulling herself together. She rises at last, sloughing off her mood like an unwanted cloak. "Thank you, Teltoli, but I don't think I should spar again any time soon," she says quietly, opening the barracks door. Her usual emotionless mask is in place once more, her voice holding its familiar flat tone, but this façade is her refuge. It's all she's known, ever since her father was killed... But Mackbry and Teltoli have been allowed a rare glimpse into the hidden, shielded, vulnerable child that has somehow managed to survive past loss and hate and pain and war. That inner self has been locked away for so long behind layers and layers of shields- of coldness, hatred, battle-fury, mercilessness devoid of emotion. Lost in a shadow-cloaked maze of distrust and caution, of blades and fury and bloodwrath and hate. Yet the child still lives, and has been allowed a momentary voice... and now, perhaps, she will be able to find her way through the maze in time.

In time... Seasons, years, perhaps the rest of her life. But now the child within is more vulnerable than ever, for there are now cracks in the seasons-old shield. And if something finds those cracks, those weaknesses, and gets through... the one part of Riala Goldentail that is still truly living will be destroyed. She gazes silently at Teltoli and Mackbry, gold-brown eyes still shadowed, but perhaps with a spark alight in the very depths of that piercing gaze. She picks up her roce and dagger, holding them in scarred and callused paws for one second of hesitation before tucking them in their accustomed places in her belt. To both hares, a nod is all she gives in return, slight and barely noticeable- but it cannot be mistaken for anything other than a nod of gratitude. Riala doesn't trust her voice for words, for she has said more in these past minutes than she normally does in a day. She turns away, sets her face to the harbor, and walks away on silent paws.

The hare watches Riala as she emerges from the barracks. He paws over the dagger to the squirrel, nodding to her roce, coiled at his side. Upon seeing the nod from Riala the hare respond with a simple nod of friendship and respect. He speaks to Mack as he watches the squirrel head out towards the harbor. "I say Mack m' bucko, she's got an interestin' tale, I kin tell. I hope what we said tah er' tahday kin help er' in some way..." His emotion shifts to a bit more upbeat note as the hare continues speaking. "Would yah like tah join me fer some vittles in the tavern Mack?"

"Nah Tel." Mack thoughtfully cups his chin is his paws as he began thinking aloud. "Although, I think her shell already is cracking m'boyo. She weren't her normal self when she was all closed up in that barracks, no sah she weren't. I think I'll jest take a stroll around the fort, be seein' yah Tel m'boyo!"