Cael leaned against the tree trunk; half holding his breath against the spicy scent of the forest as he waited - but nothing came.

The clearing was silent. There was no salvo of unseen projectiles, no head-on attack, and no crunch of leaves underfoot. Even the breeze seemed to have gone still, like a bird of prey perched in anticipation of either combatant’s next move.

Is she just going to hole up somewhere, then? That’s no good…

If she stayed, he’d have to move again, and that would only leave him open for a renewed attack. But something about the idea of Yuka holding still, coupled with the sensations from the nigh-depleted cranes, didn’t feel right.

This, whatever it might be, was certainly not hiding.

This was something else, something that gathered in the air; a heady, static-charged energy he couldn’t understand and also couldn’t ignore. It was making his skin itch with the anticipation of something beyond his ken.

He peeked around the tree, rubbing his sore shoulder absently, ignoring the ink fingerprints he left behind. He was in no hurry to get hit again, but...

That mere glimpse showed him what he had felt gathering: a split second of Yuka standing, serene beneath a ring of muted motion and light that raced outwards –

- and an eye-high maelstrom of reds, browns, golds and oranges, twigs and leaves and mulch exploded from the ground, swirling around the clearing like dull brown earth transmuted instantly into heatless fire. He had to close his eyes against the rush, feeling the crumpled and disgruntled cranes’ frustration at the sudden wind seeping through the back of his head.

He couldn’t pay them much mind. He raised his naginata like a bar before him, and tried to remember, exactly, where Yuka had been before they’d been set upon by the disorienting cyclone of loam and leaf.

He’d barely shifted backwards, the circle of binding a mere foot to his side, when he heard Yuka’s voice call out. The words were lost, entirely, in the crackling roar of the storm, but the shout was closer than he would have expected. His pale blue eyes snapped open just in time to see the sign glowing on a pale outstretched palm.

He let out a yelp, swinging the naginata in a wide arc. She evaded the wild swing with ease, though he managed to leave a thin line of obsidian ink on her forearm. Her hand closed around the naginata shaft, and he dragged back, pulling her a few steps off-balance before she let go. He followed through, swinging the capped butt for the back of Yuka’s knees…

But before the blow could fall, her quarterstaff smacked him in the shin. The skin there tingled, itching up to his knee before spreading upwards. He tried to step forward, and it was if his knee had been frozen stiff. And it just wasn’t that leg, it was both legs, and the irony was enough to shock a laugh to his lips.

He, rather pointedly, didn’t even glance towards his own trap. There was still a chance, however small, that this could work out in his favor.