When you work in Intelligence, you get used to the idea that some information is worth risking everything for. You sign up for the lifestyle, or the chance to serve your country, or the millions of frequent flier miles, but finally it all comes down to putting your ass on the line to learn something.

-Michael Westen, Burn Notice-

\

魂魄を追いかけて、三番の本

Chasing Shadows
Part III

/

Richard Cooney would rather not have involved Otto Jäeger and his crew in this, but the stubborn otter had gotten his honor tied up in the mess with Cerberus and Harrow. He was a good friend of Malcolm Aries, as mercenary captains sometimes become, and he was both saddened and infuriated by Malcolm's death. He didn't want to rest for a moment until he knew Harrow was brought to justice, made to pay for the things he'd done. People are tricky to work with when they're in that state: they'll make snap judgments, take rash action, fail to take note of something important, and may cause more trouble than help.

Otto at least would largely be a help to this cause. As a skilled and resourceful asset to LCI, Jäeger had a vested interest in helping out Intelligence whenever possible, both to his bank account, and the fact that a connection to someone in the Agency who might owe the captain a favor or two would be invaluable in a later time of crisis.

In the end, the situation came down to simple logistical math. Flying aboard the Schwarzwind would cut travel time from Zoness to Titania down to a fraction of what it would've been with the Mercutio alone, which now rested in the Schwarzwind's hangar bay. Also, having Jäeger and his crew as backup in case things went sour was a handy insurance policy to keep in the pocket. Still, Rick didn't want to push this any further than he had to. Jäeger and his crew wouldn't want to feel like they're little more than a tool to Lylat Central Intelligence, and the Agency wouldn't want to owe an asset more than they could afford to give back.

And thus was usually the relationship between agency and asset: not unlike a pair of casual lovers, complete with all the nuances, subtleties and potential complications the analogy implied.

Captain Jäeger had set up Rick, Wiley and Cassandra in one of the spare cabins. It was probably officer's quarters when Schwarzwind was still in military service, being spacious, but with only one bed, not that they'd need it for the quick trip. The cabin was more for privacy; whatever Cassandra had planned, it'd probably be better not to have an audience of curious ogling crew members.

The door to the cabin slid open, and Wiley stepped in where the other two were waiting.

"We're underway." The wolf told them, "Should be arriving at Titania in a few hours."

He didn't want to be there, not for this, not when he knew all too well what Cerinians were capable of.

"We'll have to make the most of our time." Rick said in a flat tone, turning to Cassandra, "So whatever you've got planned, lets get it done."

The Cerinian gave him a little nod, "Fair warning, Cooeny: I will need to enter your mind. More specifically, I will need to search your memories."

"Come again?" Rick blurted out, confused.

"With what little time we have, it's the only way I can help you." she explained.

He wasn't expecting this, to have to place himself at the mercy of a someone he barely met, and a Cerinian no less.

"Let me get this straight: you're asking me to let you inside my head, into the one place where I know the secrets I keep are secure." the raccoon shook his head, and his eyes came to rest a moment on Wiley, the example of what could happen, "You can't ask me to give that all up to you."

"So says the man who demanded my trust on a moment's notice, and swept me off on an adventure." Cassandra scoffed and rolled here eyes, then quickly became serious, "Now it is your turn. If you want that advantage against Haran as desperately as you claim, and as quickly as you need it, then you will need to trust me now, as I have trusted you thus far."

Richard Cooney looked to Cassandra, with her determined eyes piercing him harder than he'd thought gazes could. Granted, he'd seen some damn good gazes in his time in LCI –sometimes the other agents would even practice in front of mirrors to get theirs right– but something about hers just cut right through everything. It wasn't Cerinian psychic shenanigans at work, was it?

His eyes landed on Wiley once again, standing awkwardly in the corner, not sure what to do with himself. He'd been fidgety ever since they knocked on Cassandra's door, always trying to find any excuse to not be in the same place as her, but he also didn't want to stray too far from Rick, his only lifeline at this point. The poor guy was stuck: caught between the spook that might save him, and a Cerinian that spooked the living daylights out of him. He, who had endured a week aboard a floating frozen tomb, endured intense drugging at the hands of Cerberus crew, and endured being ejected into space by Cooney himself, was reduced to a nervous fit by a quirky old woman.

Correction: a quirky old woman with secrets.

Finally, Rick turned back to the selfsame quirky old woman with just one question, "How do I know you won't take advantage of the situation?"

"If it's any comfort, I won't be able to force the secrets from your mind if you choose not to give them up." Cassandra reassured him.

She seemed sincere enough, but how to know for sure? Maybe if Captain Jäeger had one of those ocular lie-detection scanners? No, there wasn't enough time to play 'what if?' It was either Cassandra or nothing, and there was better odds with this peculiar old Cerinian.

"Alright. Fine." the raccoon conceded with a still uncertain sigh, "But I want to know everything you know about Haran: any history between you two, what he's been up to, how he got where he is."

"You will know what I know, as I know it." Cassandra affirmed as she sat down on the cabin floor, and directed Rick to do the same just in front of her, "Let us begin."

"Wiley, go and stand watch outside the cabin." Cooney ordered the wolf, and sat down just opposite Cassandra, matching her meditative stance, "Make sure nobody comes in until we're done."

"Yeah, sure thing." and Wiley shuffled out of the cabin.

Just before the door closed behind him, he could hear Cassandra as she gave a calm instruction,"Relax, Cooney. Take a deep breath..."

And the door sealed shut. He was alone now, in one of the corridors of the Schwarzwind, with only the low rumble of the ship to speak to or hear back from.

This was crazy. This whole stint was absolutely nuts.

He knew what that bastard Harrow was capable of, he'd already tried fighting him, and failed completely. And now, of all the possible people in Lylat he could trust his life to, he got stuck with these two clowns. Granted, there weren't many options, but what could a creepy old lady possibly have to teach to a weird little spy that might turn the tables here?

It'd better be something damn good, that's what.

Alright then, suppose by some miracle she does havesomething damn good, it all works out, and Harrow is taken care of? What would Wiley –or Makita– do once it's done? Hell, what would he even call himself? All these fake IDs and aliases he'd been juggling this past year was making his head spin. 'Makita' he knew was the birth name, or at least the one he was first given while growing up alone...

Maybe he'd go back to Serge, get in with his crowd again? Actually, maybe not, that slimy bastard would never let Makita live it down if he did. 'Hm,' he'd say in his smug little way, 'didn't I tell you not to trust that troublesome Cerinian?' No, he didn't need that, and he could get by with other means, somehow.

Maybe he'd go and see Carmen again? Haven't checked up on her in almost a year now though. Would she have remembered after all this time? Could she forgive him for dropping out of her life like that, without warning? He had to cut loose from her, with the life he was getting into, there wasn't any way she'd be safe if he still had ties like that...

What if she'd moved on?

The door behind him slid obediently open, and then Rick burst out past him in a mad fit, catching Wiley off guard. The raccoon grabbed the him by his shoulders, and looked him straight in the eyes with an unsettling, crazed stupor. Cooney was heaving for his breath, eyes bloodshot and open wide...

He looked bewildered, confused, frightened?

"Quick!" Rick gasped, "Punch me in the face, now!"

"Wha–"

"Just do it, you stammering dolt!"

Somehow, Rick's frantic command carried right through Wiley into action. He pushed the raccoon off him to arms reach as a set up, and delivered a right hook just under Rick's eye to the sound of a solid thump!

Rick reeled back and away from the blow, clutching his face, "Ugh... thanks."

"You're um... welcome?" Wiley replied with confusion, and helped him up.

"How long was I out for?" The raccoon as he shook his head, working to composed himself.

"A couple minutes, tops." the wolf answered, but he couldn't ignore Rick's uneasiness, "You okay?"

"Still a little dazed from that right hook of yours, but I'm alright–"

"No, don't try that spy bullshit with me, Rick." Wiley cut him off, knowing full-well it was a lie, "What the hell did she do to you?"

He'd never seen Cooney this shaken up before. Rick was jittery all over, shaking little trembles that he tried to hide. Wiley knew exactly what that was, he'd felt the same way after his first links with Harrow: confused, shaken, uncontrolled trembling.

Still, Rick cracked a smile through his trembling uneasiness, "I think I might know how to beat Harrow."

"You think?"

The raccoon just shrugged and chuckled, "Well, this whole psychic mojo thing isn't really an exact science, you see–" he cringed in sudden bout of pain, "Damn, I'm gonna get some ice or something for this lump."

And with that, Cooney set off down the corridor, leaving Wiley alone behind him.

"We're screwed." the wolf shook his head, eyes downcast, "So very, very–"

There was only pain.

His face burned with a fire he could not douse. His vision was blinded by a light he could not see, his thoughts obliterated by a scream he could not utter, and all feeling smothered by a pain he could not feel.

But then there was a voice he could not hear, cutting through all the rest.

Do not be afraid, Makita.

Wiley's vision returned, and he found himself on his back, in the cabin, staring up at the ceiling. Then there was Cassandra, looking down to him with great concern.

"Get away from me, you conniving bluefur hag!" Wiley yelled, and scrambled up to his feet, "I know what you did to Rick! You fucked with his head, like Harrow did to me!"

"No, I did not." Cassandra rebutted coolly as she shook her head, "Cooney's answer against Haran has always been with him, I merely helped him to realize which question to ask. What Haran has done to you is something else entirely, and it is getting worse."

"Worse?"

Could be true enough. He'd been having the dying dreams more and more often. He knew every moment of every scrap of fear and agony they felt, right up to their final oblivion. This was the first time he had a flashback while still awake though.

"It is the nature of Ju'shi, I'm afraid." the Cerinian explained, pacing around Wiley in a circle, "Left untreated, the deaths you have experienced will fester, and spread through your mind like the infection of a gaping wound, or a cancer. As your mind is slowly overrun, the Ju'shi will drive you further and further into madness, until the time comes to experience your own death."

"I don't... augh!" the wolf cringed, collapsed to his knees with his head in his hands.

He suddenly felt so very pained, with so many dissonant thoughts bouncing through his head.

He wasn't going insane. There's no way he could be losing his mind like she said... but it made sense... but then, everything Harrow said made sense at the time too. She can help him... like Harrow helped? She knows what he did, she can fix it... He could fix it himself.

"I don't want you in my head."

Who the hell was he kidding? He couldn't fix this anymore than a rock could fix a crack in itself.

"Makita, for all the terrible wrongs he has done to you, I want to make it right." Cassandra knelt down next to Wiley, and placed her hand on his shoulder, "Let me help you to be rid of that which pains you, and so repay the debt owed to you on behalf of my kind."

"How?"

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"I think you will find, Ms. Cooney, that our situation is... a little complicated."

/

A little over a year ago

The winds of Setarea blew gentle and cold in the early morning, carrying its sands across the dunes. The sun had not quite risen yet, still glowing crimson over the edge of the horizon, throwing its blooded light across the half-buried ancient stones all around him, casting long shadows and silhouettes. Ashk'habat had seen many ancient ruins in his time, Titania was practically pockmarked with them. These ones were different though, built in an architectural style unseen on this world, and with materials that shouldn't be present.

Instead of the tranquil stillness of dawn, the exotic ruins were busy with an excited murmur: off-worlders, archaeologists invited to study these peculiar ruins. The archeology crew had elected to begin their work early in the morning, to give them at least a few hours time to work before the midday heat would become unbearable to those not suited to it. The men and women scurried about all around Ashk'habat and his men, poking and prodding at the stones, notating every glyph and image, being ever so careful not to let any detail go unnoticed. So many of them were young, so filled with youthful vigor and insatiable curiosity. This was not Ashk'habat's main concern though.

He and his men had been hired as guides and bodyguards, to keep the off-worlders safe and from the threat of raiders or the occasional predator, and to help provide shelter in the harsh deserts. Where the archeology team's focus was on what they could find at their feet, and constanlty chattering among themselves, Ashk'habat and his men remained silent in their sentinel duty, watching the distant horizon for anything amiss–

"There you are!"

Ashk'habat nearly jumped out of his boots at the words behind him, almost a comical sight for the towering stoic reptilian.

He quietly cursed under his breath, and turned to face the speaker, Dr. Archibald Spalding. He was a smaller feline a solid gray fur tone, and the leader of the expedition. He gazed up at Ashk'habat with wide wondrous eyes, all but dancing with joy on the spot.

"Oh? Did I startle you?" Dr. Spalding asked "My apologies–"

"What is it?" the reptile asked.

It seemed unbecoming for a distinguished, intellectual man like Spalding to behave with such giddy excitement, almost like a child.

"My dear friend Ashk'habat, how could you be so stoic and stern at a time like this?" the little feline asked, pointing out the ruins around them and the busy archeology crew, "Don't you find this the least bit exciting? Actual Krazoic structures, right here in Lylat, on your homeworld of Titania no less! It's... astounding! This is going to be the news of the–"

* Blam! *

The doctor's excited babbling was cut short by a nearby blaster shot, soon followed by many more, along with the pained screams of the shots' targets as they fell. It shouldn't have been possible, no one was seen approaching the ruins.

"What's going on?" Dr. Spalding asked, confused, frightened, "What's the meaning of this? Are they–"

"Stay close to me, Doctor!" Ashk'habat ordered, then unslung the assault rifle from his back, watching for any sign of the hostiles. He didn't see any of his men engaging, and that worried him.

There was a sudden crackle of static at the reptile's ear, one of his men making contact, "Ashk'habat!" he babbled in frantic Titanian, "The off-worlders are attacking each other! What do we do?"

Ashk'habat did not know, and simply stayed silent on the comm.

The silence persisted, falling so silent in fact that there was no more blaster-fire. Almost as suddenly as the sounds of slaughter and dying screams began, it ended. The excitement of the expedition, and then the screams of pain, were now still and quiet in death.

One of the off-worlders approached Ashk'habat, but he wasn't frightened. This one carried himself with a strange confidence, a jovial mockery of satisfaction. He was a tall black-and-white canid, rivaling Ashk'habat in sheer height. He was armed, but only with a pistol on his belt, as many of the off-worlders were, knowing the dangers.

There were a few others with him also, all dressed the same as the archeology crew, and armed as well. But these men, and even a couple women, were far more grim and stern-faced; they were killers. One of them seemed especially worrisome: a little scowling vulpine, with blue fur. There was just... something odd about that one.

Ashk'habat's men simply watched them, stunned into silence, or out of morbid curiosity.

"My friends! Please, do not be alarmed." the tall canid greeted in accented Titanian, "Let me introduce myself. I am Garmir, a visionary individual of enterprise, and I come to you with a proposition. Hear me out, and I promise you will have much to gain."

"We will do no such thing!" Ashk'habat spat back as he stepped forward, his words aflame. The reptile motioned toward his men, giving them the nonverbal order to ready themselves, and they all aimed their weapons at the group, "My men and I are bound by duty to protect these people from danger."

"And what a fine job you're doing." Garmir said with a laugh, indicating the corpses that had once been the archeology team.

"We outnumber you," Ashk'habat growled, "and we will have no qualms over slaughtering you and leaving your filthy carcases to the fate of Titania's sands for this."

"Excuse me, um... good sir," the little feline said, stepping out, trying very hard to cover up his utter terror, "I'm Dr. Spalding."

Garmir just rolled his eyes and sighed as he replied, "Yes, I know who you are."

"I'm... I'm very quite sure that..." Dr. Spalding stammered, eyes glancing through the grim-faced group before him, "I'm sure we can work something out... like civilized–"

* Blam! *

Garmir had drawn and fired his handgun faster than any eyes could see, blasting a shot straight into Dr Spalding's face. The little feline didn't even have a chance to cry out in pain, and he was dead before his body collapsed on the sand.

"No!"

Not a moment later Ashk'habat had his assault rifle up and firing into the group, spraying them with a torrent of blaster-fire as he screamed in outrage.

Something wasn't right though. The suspicious little blue vulpine had stepped between Ashk'habat and Garmir, holding some kind of exotic staff weapon. It projected some kind of barrier, absorbing every shot the enraged reptile fired. The strange fox just sneered back at him through his barrier, and stepped forward, reveling in the shock he'd put on the stalwart Ashk'habat. He kept firing anyway, even with the weapon growing hot in his hands with every shot

Just as Ashk'habat's hands felt as if they'd fry from the overheating, the rifle's magazine cartridge ran dry, and the weapon went silent.

Without any time to react, the little blue vulpine had given a flourish of his staff that knocked the useless weapon from Reptile's grasp, and tumbling to the sand.

When Ashk'habat looked up, he was staring down the barrel of Garmir's handgun, with the tall canid who wielded it looking just jovial. Ashk'habat's men, all watching the events unfold, were stunned. They chattered amongst themselves, so unsure of the current situation. Their leader was at the mercy of some strange off-worlders who'd bested him so easily. Some things could be made out from the chatter, "what kind of sorcery is that?" "it's madness!" "maybe we should hear what the off-worlder has to say" "Kill them now!"

Ashk'habat could only watch silently, both outraged and horrified as this Garmir character had his way, exploiting the curiosity and indecisiveness of the men. They were loyal men, all of them, but their loyalty only stretched as far as what was practical. It was a simple fact of desert caravan life, one that Garmir seemed to know all too well.

"Let me clarify the situation." the tall smiling canid began, never losing his polite, welcoming demeanor, even as he held Ashk'habat at gunpoint, "As far as anyone outside of us is concerned, this benign archaeological expedition has just been the victim of a horrible confidence trick. How could you lure these innocent people out to the harsh deserts, only to murder them for your own enjoyment? By Lyla, the people who live in Titania's deserts are such barbaric animals. So, even if by some miracle you can overpower my forces, you will simply codify the "truth" of what happened: the "truth" of murdering scum with no honor. Don't you see? That's the story that leaves these ruins today. You will find no support beyond the strength of your word, and it would be your word against the outraged, justice-craving word of official authorities. They hate you, and would not lose a second of sleep to execute every last one of you."

This prompted a series of uneasy grumbles from the men. Everything Garmir was telling them was true. Titanian desert caravaners were far from trusted among off-world visitors, and not without reason. Many enough truly were selfish bandits, preying on the weak and unprepared. Many of Ashk'habat's men were once like that, and some of them still harbored secret ambitions of plundering, despite his best efforts to reform them into respectable people.

"But please, you mustn't think me unkind, I don't want that for you." Garmir stepped away from Ashk'habat, lowering his handgun and addressing the caravaners instead, "No, I want to protect you, and to give you the wealth and opportunity you all so well deserve, yet have been denied by these ignorant hateful creatures. My enterprising little family can do this, and you are all welcome to share in the great wealth these ruins will soon reap, as well as future wealth still yet unfathomable."

The men responded with an excited murmur, lured by the promise of wealth, of the life of ease and power. This was the end of it. If Ashk'habat were to oppose the offer openly, he would be killed, and most of his men would happily work for the grinning canid. They'd kill off what few were still loyal to Ashk'habat, and conduct whatever business there was without him

Garmir now turned back to the towering reptile, still wearing that filthy slimy smile on his face, so smug in his. He holstered his weapon and extended an open hand, but he may as well have been holding a pair of shackles the way things were.

"What say you?" he asked, so friendly on the outside, yet so confident and domineering underneath.

There was only one option: to submit under Garmir for now, do what he wanted, and to look for opportunities later.

"I say you make an interesting offer." Ashk'habat answered, and clasped his hand in Garmir's, "I accept."

\

/

The place that Ashk'habat and his caravan used as shelter was cavern, carved into the sandstone by a meager underground spring, one of so precious few water sources in the Setarea. The rusty red space was lit by a series of movable light fixtures, work lights perhaps, all casting looming shadows of figures onto the walls. What little tech there was; a comm station, sensor readouts, basic field medicine suite; was all powered by a cluster of portable generators. Anything that didn't absolutely need power, they used mundane means for.

The meal they'd served consisted of field rations, military surplus, or other long shelf-life foodstuffs that didn't demand refrigeration. The caravaners seemed like the kind who'd prefer to hunt or scavenge the land for food, but the barren Setarea did not provide so much as a scrap. Everything that supported them here, save for the near-miraculous water source they'd found, had to be carted in from somewhere else.

The general impression of the caravaners themselves was that of tired, weary, bored travelers, going nowhere, but also on edge. Their uneasiness could be attributed to the newly arrived party, who sat in a circle around a small fire, politely finishing the meal they'd been served as they listened to Ashk'habat recount the events that brought the caravan there.

"Garmir?" Scott asked, surprised, recognizing the name, "That old silver-tongued pirate's behind this?"

"If that's all true, then why are we here, and as guests?" Rachelle questioned over her half-emptied tray, somewhat suspicious, "Why aren't we enemies?"

"Because it did not last." Ashk'habat answered firmly, looking Rachelle square in the eye, "Garmir's promises of wealth never came to fruition, lost to complications and time. My men grew restless and disgusted, but none dared mutiny against Garmir and his elite cohort. As it happened, the first who lost patience and stood against Garmir openly was the blue one, 'Harrow' as you know him."

James, Peppy, Pigma and the others listened intently while Ashk'habat continued.

"Skilled as he was, the little blue one did not strike me as an experienced mercenary. He was impatient, defiant, and never quite loyal to Garmir at all. The frustration of the stagnant situation devolved into a power struggle between the two, until their final schism. Since my men were similarly dissatisfied with Garmir's lack of results, it was not a stretch for us to stand with Harrow, however reluctantly. Garmir was embittered left us alone soon after, and we haven't heard anything about him since."

"But if that scene back at the shuttle is any clue, you and this Harrow creep don't seem like friends either." Peppy observed.

Ashk'habat let out a grumbling sigh when he heard that, "I chose to 'ally' with Harrow in the schism specifically because he was unstable, because I knew he would not be able to keep order for very long. When the little blue one would falter, that is where my men and I would turn against him, and expel him. I thought that time might have come a few days ago when he returned. He seemed far more stressed in his communication, far more desperate than I'd ever seen him before."

"People are at their most dangerous when at their most desperate." Rachelle observed.

"Exactly." the towering reptile agreed, and continued, "I urged caution, but some of my more adamant men could not wait for the opportune moment, and acted on their own to confront him. You've seen the consequences of their impatience."

"Do you know where he is now?" James asked, growing restless. The fox had that somewhat agitated look in his eye, of one who had grown weary of waiting, and wanted to move to action.

Ashk'habat considered the fox for a moment, before finally answering, "The only place he could be is those Krazoic ruins. He is not among us, and there are no other places for shelter within traveling range on foot."

"Then what're we waiting for?" Peppy asked suddenly, springing to his feet, alive with a renewed vigor, "Let's get out there!"

"Wait!" Ashk'habat interrupted, "If you are set on heading out there, then there is something you should know."

"What is it?" James asked, growing impatient. What would he need to know that hasn't been told already?

"Harrow would return to the ruins often, and he'd bring one or two of his off-world lackeys with him. He'd lead them deep into the sand-buried structure, and remain there for several hours before returning, sometimes longer. I don't know exactly what happened in there, but the trip... changed them."

The tall reptile's voice continued on, growing more grave, and more uncertain as the subject went away from what he knew, to what he could only guess at.

"When the off-worlders first arrive, they all have that puffed up mercenary's bravado about them, the fabricated confidence I've seen countless times before. But when they return from the Krazoic ruins, they are... ghostly, absent of any emotion, of expression. They are completely focused, like monks in meditation, but somehow sinister, vacant–"

"Um, guys?" Pigma piped up as he looked around, worried, "Has anyone seen Scott?"

They all looked around, scanning the cavern, but there was no sign of Scott anywhere.

Rachelle shook her head, and brought her hand up over her face, "Oh no..."

"Come on!" James shouted as he started toward the cavern's exit, revitalized with new purpose, "We have to go after him!"

\

/

Harrow sat outside, on the highest point of the broken ruins, where the dry wind whipped and tugged on his white hair. The sun was going down now, hovering only just above the moon, making the heat a little less unbearable. In a few more hours, the sky would darken, and the desert would then play host to an bitter yet iceless cold.

The Cerinian felt a lone presence approaching fast, probably one of Ashk'habat's men on a hoverbike. He could be another of the fools who would challenge him; unlikely though. It was probably just the supply runner that Ashk'habat had agreed to send daily. That lizard knew the price if he failed to uphold his agreement. Still, never hurts to be prepared...

The presence was soon accompanied by a small billow of dust streaking along the sands, and the slow crescendo of an engine whine: hoverbike.

Harrow sprang to his sandaled feet, adjusted the harness that held the unexpanded staff under the sweater, and made his way down. He bounded effortlessly from stone to stone, sliding down inclines with perfect control, always absolutely sure of his footing, of his surroundings.

The Cerinian reached the sand at the bottom a few moments later, and found that the hoverbike had come to a stop nearby. The rough-cloaked figure dismounted, a little clumsy it seemed, his movements not quite as natural as Ashk'habat's riders should have been.

The cloaked figure saw Harrow, and started toward the Cerinian. The spark of suspicion prompted Harrow to pry a little deeper into the rider's mind. His mind felt something like the fools who'd first greeted him when he returned, but it was sharper, harder, more refined. He had such singular purpose, such focus, all fueled by revenge, and it was such a very personal flavor of revenge...

Ah.

He knew exactly who this mind belonged to.

"You are not one of Ashk'habat's men." Harrow stated dryly.

As if in reply, the cloaked figure reached over his shoulder behind his back. Then with a grating, tearing noise, the cloak was cut away, it's tattered remains falling to the sand at the rider's feet. What was revealed was a dark furred terrier in a set of military-style fatigues, holding a sword. The wiry canid glared back at the Cerinian, through eyes that may as well have been a pair of infernos.

No need for words.

Harrow reached behind his back under the sweater, then drew the staff and expanded it so quickly that it it seemed to materialize from nowhere.

The two of them stood there for a wonderfully tense moment. Each assumed their respective fighting stances, scrutinizing the other. It was the calm before the storm about to erupt between them, and it'd only end with at least one dead.

He was going to enjoy this...

Author Notes:

I have no excuses. This chapter has been languishing and sitting for far too long. I'll do my best to get these out quicker in the time to come.

As always, your feedback is most welcome.