[Irn League] The Zen Of War

[Briarheart]

The most curious thing popped into view.

A small white rabbit with patches of brown fur paid no attention to me as it leaped into the sand, cutting across the checkerboard pattern on the hunt for something. Boy, if that robed fellow had only stuck around for another minute, he could've had two screaming fits for the price of one!

The little creature hopped on his merry way in a little curved pattern, adding its own flourishes to the expertly-raked sand, kicking up little clouds with each leap. It would stop occasionally to sniff the air, look to the left then the right, and then hunch back over and continue on his merry way. Soon, the rabbit would find its mark; one of the circular patches of grass that surrounded the rocks set in the zen garden itself. Satisfied with its work, it tucked into the blades of grass, pulling at and nibbling the lengths of greenery in search of a good dinner.

It was mildly weird, but I felt the urge to stroll on over and pet it. With how easily it approached me from behind, it must've been a friendly beast and used to the company of humans. But then again, it might take off a finger or two of mine--

--Because, you know, I'm a walking houseplant and all. It might think I'm some kind of all-you-can-eat buffet.

I took a deep breath, and exhaled slowly. The initial wave of nausea had passed, thank the gods. I'd need to be in top form for when my opponent showed up, whenever that might have been.

If they took their sweet time about it, that would be okay. I wouldn't mind sitting at the rocky edge of the garden and meditate for a few minutes beforehand.

Meditation is something I've picked up recently. With the string of disasters in my laboratory I've dealt with and all the roadblocks in my research of Red's precarious situation, I needed something to clear my mind. Hype suggested taking half an hour here to close my eyes and center myself. I never thought it would work, but hey; I can be wrong once in a while. Who would've guessed.

Maybe I'd go sit on the steps of the verandah and enjoy the peace and quiet of the garden for a spell. Wait out the arrival of my opponent in a sort of half-conscious state. With luck, I wouldn't fall asleep and be a sitting duck for a kick in the throat.

When I turned to walk to the stairs, I immediately realized that I'd have no such luxury today.

There she stood, framed by the lacquered support beams holding up the roof of the tea house or temple or whatever. My opponent was good half-foot taller and far more top-heavy than myself, her dragonscale breastplate too occupied with containing her ample bosom to worry about covering the tree tattoo that decorated her midriff. The faun's hair was loose, spilling down her back in a cascade of purple. The horns that curved out of her head looked especially dangerous today. Sunlight glinted off the polished metal of her bracers.

And she still had the audacity to exclude pants from her inventory. Not even so much as a loincloth to remain decent in public.

“Philomel,” I said with a polite nod. Already, a cloud of plague was building in my lungs, ready to be unleashed upon her. My eyes flickered with anticipation of the coming battle. She was always a capable opponent, but always one to rely on the numbers game to overcome any challenges thrown her way.

“This one of yours?” I motioned with a gloved hand towards the rabbit, who continued to mind its own business off in the grass. “I have a hard time keeping track of all your pets.”