A long time coming. (Closed, Invite.)

[Musashi]

The hot sun beat down on Musashi.

The straw hat that covered the traveler's head in shade did little to avoid the Sheer heat of the desert. And none of what he had done to prepare had truly readied the Akashiman for the sweltering challange that had built since entering the outlands. He had been here for only a few days, And water he had was gone. Emptied moments ago by the sheer demand of his thirst. There was a small town ahead. Civilisation meant water. That was going to be the perfect stopping point.

Partly because stopping anywhere else was going to mean the end for the samurai. Sweat dripped down his brow, His hakama let what little breeze there was to flow against his skin, But was still heavy enough to trap heat.

Foolishly Musashi had assumed that a hot country would be simply like his own, only stuck in a perpetual summer. A foolish assumption to make. The only thought here, in the desert. There were no boats. A surprisingly effective silver lining to his outlook on the situation he had arrived in. His feet stomped the compacted sand of the road ahead of him. Following it as religiously as a monk would follow the signs from any being greater than himself. The town was getting closer, bringing relief and strength back into his being. His pace sped. and soon he was walking in the shade of wooden buildings, His wooden sandals tapping loudly against the dried wood of the side-walk.

He still needed water.

Turning, Musashi pushed his way through a pair of swinging chest high doors. The hakama clad figure, two samurai swords on his waist entered. A piano player played a quiet tune in the corner. Round tables were populated by men in strange hats and large moustaches. Behind the bar, an older woman polished a glass in front of shelves of the same, like a quiet warning.

As the saloon doors swung shut, soon coming to a stop behind the samurai he made his way to the bar, ordered a tall glass of water and examined the room for anyone who stood out. He was going to need someone for the journey towards the land they call oasis and the travelling people who lived there.

[Iriah Caitrak]

The heat of the desert felt good against her skin. For too long Iriah had stayed in Corone, content to be with Malagen and ignore the duties she had to the land and her people. She could not ignore them any longer and in so doing, she had sacrificed the relationship of a man whom she'd loved in favour of being the warrior. She missed him terribly. Missed the subtle quirk of his mouth that would let her know he was happy, the perpetual frown that seemed to cover it otherwise, the ice blue of his eyes and the way his calloused hands felt as they glided across her body. She even missed the coldness, the distance within him, and the feeling inside her knowing she was slowly melting that dam of ice.

Only the water froze as it trickled down and she was left alone once more. Perhaps it was for the best. She knew that until she could rid herself of the corruption inside her, she was more a menace to society than a saviour. If there even was a way to banish Ahbrapatha.

Brushing her fingers through the short strands of her tussled, orchid hair, Iriah gently tugged on the reins of Syrahd, the beautiful chestnut and white horse that carried her. Borrowed from the Oasis tribe, she had been given charge of her, and the two others that followed behind, to help cart her from Irrakam to Oasis and then foot it from there to Astaka. A journey that would otherwise take her almost two weeks without the horses, could practically be cut in half now.

It had been such a long time since she'd been home. Iriah couldn't wait to see her friends, to fall asleep under familiar stars and visit the valley of the dead, so she could tell Uriahd of all that had happened since her last visit.

Seeing the familiar croppings of an outpost forming along the sandy horizon, Iriah sped the horses up slightly. She glanced behind her at the other two, each saddle laden with feed and water and some supplies for Oasis. The Ahketamikan's constantly borrowed from their neighbours that lived in Oasis, and in turn they brought goods back from Irrakam, where the Oasis people seldom ventured.

Several wooden structures began to form on the horizon as her silver eyes swept across it. Heading towards the tavern, Iriah brought her horses up to the water trough out front, the cool liquid glimmering in the bright light of the sun. Sliding off, she tied them up, checked their saddles and grabbed her rucksack.

Pushing through the swinging doors, she reached up and unwound the crimson scarf from around the lower half of her face, to protect her from the blowing sand, and headed right for the bar. The woman behind it stiffened slightly when she saw the odd colour of her hair, her eyes roaming over her form and stopping on the white tribal markings on her shoulders, peeking out ever-so-slightly from the sleeves of her blood red top.

"What can I get you, Ahketamikan?" Her voice was cool and distant, almost as cool as the silver gaze Iriah levelled her with, making her squirm.

"Ayapanya." Her eyes never left the woman's face as she spoke. In another life, before she had met Malagen, Iriah probably would have let the slight pass, but now she cared little for how others saw her. She was Ahketamikan, but that didn't define her.

The woman reached under the counter and produced a clear bottle, a blue tinted liquid within, and a glass. Iriah cracked it, poured a generous amount into her cup and down it in one go. The alcohol burned all the way down, setting her mouth, throat and stomach ablaze. It wasn't called fire water for no reason.

Sucking in air between clenched teeth, she poured herself another, only this she sipped as she sat down on the hard wooden stool.

[Musashi]

The traveler stared at the glass laid down in front of him. Filled to the brim with chilled, clear, pure water. Moisture in the air condensing on the glass surface. Rolling down towards the baked wooden counter. The inverted and warped image of the barmaid stared back at him, a bemused smiled stretching dry lips and wrinkled skin as she watched the stranger drink the sight up before allowing the people's wine flow down his throat in a single, drawn out pull. Making sure every drop had left the glass that would, before hitting the counter again and motioning for another.

The bar-maid obliged, water was a commodity, but it was rare enough that the clean stuff was closely guarded and charged for. Not a lot, just a little coin. Enough to dissuade anyone looking to mooch too much. Or stock up for free. She stared at him. It wasn't often that an Akashiman would come this far out. His skin was a curiosity but not something to keep your attention. His reply was wordless, the waterskin flopped onto the bar along with the cost. She was grudging to fill that up. It meant a leaving customer. No time to order and no time for tips. So while she was filling the waterskin and taking her time with it, she asked in a voice that felt too young for the face that owned it:

"Just passing through?"

He nodded, clearly visable under such a hat.

"You'll be needing a guide. A good one. That thing on your head isn't going to be doing as much as you hoped."

He stared at her, Waiting for the next sentence that easily followed the information she was passing on. Shrugging. Defeated. She waved towards Iriah, passing the water skin back back to Musashi with a wet slap against the table.

"Her kind's from out there. If anyone's going to be of use. It be her."

Musashi nodded. Collected his water and moved to sit next to the stranger. A purple haired, dark skinned curiosity sipping a pale blue drink from her glass and bottle. His desire to not sit and watch a stranger drink outweighed his desire to avoid asking for aid. He had hardly sat down on the stool beside her when he opened his mouth, his accent still thick with Akashiman, regardless of his time traveling, to discuss the possibility of travelling together through the desert.

"I've been informed by the staff, that you could be of high value, if I was planning to travel deeper into the desert."

He said. Clumsily.

"If what she said was true. Perhaps we can come to an arrangement, travel together?"

[Iriah Caitrak]

Iriah stared quietly at the siahd from the corner of her eye. His common was broken and a little on the clumsy side, but far more passable than some of the people she'd met. The clothing, aside from the obvious accent, marked him as a stranger to this land right away. Only a fool who knew nothing of the desert would travel through it wearing such heavy material. The Ahketamikan was amazed he'd made it this far in the scorching sun without being baked alive. By the slight tan of his skin, starting to turn red from the sun, and the slant of his brown eyes, she pegged him for a Akashiman. Though Iriah had not spent any time there herself, the months in Corone had exposed her to many of the different people that Althanas had to offer.

She turned back to the ice blue liquid floating within her glass. Bringing it up to her lips, she sipped and savoured the ayapanya, the burn and the heat and the sweet aftertaste of the potent brew, before placing her glass on the counter and motioning the woman for another. She swayed over, her black eyes glancing between the two of them before putting another glass upon the counter and moving away, though still quite within earshot. The few other people in the tavern created a comfortable backdrop of noise and clatter as they talked about the recent rain that had come through.

Grasping the glass in her long fingers, she poured a hefty amount of the alcohol into it and then offered it to the man next to her. His eyes trailed her face before coming to rest on her hand and the gift within in. He took it, but did not drink at first and she couldn't help the smirk that touched the corner of her lips.

“Where are you going?” She asked.

“I've heard there is a place called Oasis.”

She chuckled and picked up her glass, draining the contents. “Oh, there definitely is a place called Oasis, but those who live within it are...eccentric to say the least. And they are not very fond of strangers.”

She pushed back from the scarred wooden counter and turned slightly to face the stranger. Her eyes travelled up and down his form, taking in the blades resting upon his waist. They were quite similar to the style of sword that Malagen used to fight with and seeing them left a knot in the pit of her stomach.

“Getting there will be rather difficult and take several days. You any good with those swords?”

[Musashi]

News of the habitants of Oasis was an unwelcome addition to the samurai's journey. Musashi had hoped that the journey would be the part most difficult. He let it sink in while lifting the offered glass to his lips, sipping with a knowing caution. Nothing blue was un-interesting. The drink burned as it hit his throat and belly. Catching him off guard as his expectations of the desert were broken again. But the warmth in his belly, even in the already stifling heat of the lands he had arrived in, was comforting.

Replacing the drink onto the bar and turning to return the stranger's stare, he watched as she sized him up. Musashi was relatively unremarkable. A thought that struck him as his eyes fell to the scars on her neck. A mark of strength for sure as a lesser person would easily have died from such a wound. Even without it, she was giving out an aura of fortitude. He had no doubt that he had been directed to the correct person to guide him through the dangers of the desert. For several days journey, the right person was going to mean the difference between life and death.

Maybe literally.

Glancing down at his swords, Katana and wakizashi, each made of the finest Akashiman steel that hung upon his waist, protected from the elements by their scabbards of rosewood. Where they sat, waiting and ready, whenever he travelled.

"I'm not dead yet."

Simple enough. He hadn't met anyone yet who had bested him with an Akashiman blade. Many were thugs or the corrupt and he had no wish to cross blades with any who did good in the world. But there was always a chance someone with something to prove would approach. Wearing the swords was in invitation to challenge. His thoughts of blades and his own way of life outlined something about the stranger: a lack of weapons of her own Besides the smirk on her lips which had formed around his answer.

"Will you be travelling unarmed? Assuming, of course that you agree to journey with me."

[Iriah Caitrak]

Iriah let a lazy smirk play about the corners of her lips. She liked this Akashiman. She liked the way he carried himself, with a confidence that spoke of experience and not male ego and pride. Many other men would have boasted of their feats and given her a great flurry of steel to prove their prowess. He didn't. He didn't need to. The one line basically told her much of what she needed to know of the man underneath the heavy robes.

Years ago, when pride had ruled her, she may have shown him her powers there and then, if not to merely satisfy herself with the look upon his face. But then she'd met Letho Ravenheart and lost her best friend. Then she'd fought during the war against the Cult of Mitra and watched civilian and warrior die before her eyes, with no way to stop it, while nearly losing her own life in the process. Then, she'd met a man named Malagen, who had changed her in more ways than she had realized. Years ago, she would have played the girl, now though, she was a woman.

"The desert, much like it's people, is not always how it appears to be." Is all she said about her weaponry. The Ahketamikan could only hope they wouldn't need the kinds of weapons she fought with during their journey. Extending a battle scarred hand towards him, she introduced herself. "Iriah Caitrak, at your service."

His grip was firm, his own skin just as calloused and worn as hers. "Musaashi Mitsuru."

"I'll take you to The Oasis, which lucky for you, I was heading to myself."

Reaching into the purse upon her side, Iriah dumped a few tarnished and worn coins on the table. The woman scooped them up with a quick veracity and they disappeared into the stained apron around her waist. She didn't meet the swirling quicksilver of her eyes and when Iriah tossed her water skin upon the counter, the woman filled it quickly and without protest.

"But first, we'll need to get you some proper travelling clothes..."

[Musashi]

He was impressed.

Musashi had assumed, wrongfully, from Irah's stance and composure that she would take his cue to show off her defence. It was something that Musashi was curious in, but her cue of ambiguity instilled a higher level of confidence in the samurai with his guide. Understatement was the mark of a true warrior. One that knew the world. It spoke of skill. They shook hands, exchanged names and paid for their drinks. Barmaid by them before the coin was fully out in the air. The simple talent of the public sector: knowing when they were going to be paid, before the payer. Worn hands deposited the gold and was quick at work in shaking down another drinker for his tab.

Nodding, Musashi followed Irah outside into the main thoroughfare of the town. The heat hitting him with less ferocity than it had done before, the sun now sitting lower in the sky. Sweat still pushed it's way to the surface though and he agreed with Irah. Before they set out on their journey, Musashi would need to find attire that wouldn't cause his death out in the desert.

With a few quick words, Irah led Musashi across the compounded sand 'road' to another building which stood on it's own. A creaking wooden representation of trader's weights swung above the door and a sign on the door did it's best to entice customers in with neatly drawn words promising everything a paying customer could want to acquire from such a humble store. The duo marched through the front door, a brass bell announcing their presnce but to no greeting. Only a shout from the back. Male. From all that Musashi could gather, with a touch of exertion.

"I'll be with you in a moment"

Taking the cue. Irah led Musashi towards the travelling goods and gear in the centre of the store.

"You need something Opaque, blocking the sun. But light to let the air flow. This-"

She pinched at the thicker cotton of Musashi's Hakama.

"Will kill you."

Straight to the point. Something that was appreciated. He knew all too well the dangers of his attire. Finding the town was luck. He had been out of water and, almost, breath when he had found the town of wooden buildings , located on a rarely used trade road Musashi had confronted his own morality and luck, or fate, had pulled him through to the other end and given him another chance to prepare. His hand moved through the options. He was drawn to a lighter fabric body wrap he had seen many of the men wear in town to keep the heat at bay. He considered moving through the rest of the options.

"So, Irah. What's taking you to the Oasis?"

Musashi asked, interested in his new travelling companion. Curious why chance had seen fit to throw him together with a purple haired warrior of the desert.

[Iriah Caitrak]

Iriah looked over at the free lowing outfit that Musashi had picked out and highly approved. The deep green and gold embroidered shirt had long sleeves that, much like his own garb, would fit rather loosely, allowing him easy movement with those swords should he need them. The pants, white in colour, were just as open and flowing, but slightly thicker and would help keep the sand off his skin. Sand rash was a very real and serious problem. She'd seen people die from infections due to it. The lighter material of both these would easily help keep him cooler during the day, and hopefully warmer at night. As he had most likely learned, the desert could become frigid once the sun dipped below the horizon. Many travellers new to Fallien oft times forgot this.

"My tribe lives close to the Oasis people." Iriah remarked as she pulled out the clothes from the pile and held it up against Musashi's lean body.

It appeared it would fit him well.

"As such, over the generations, we have formed a bond with them. We mainly trade our services for their goods, including the three horses I have out front. They will be returned to their people. I was charged with bringing them back, as I am already heading home to Astaka and it is somewhat on the way."

As she finished talking, a short middle aged man came limping out of the back room. His skin was as dark as the night, though Iriah could see a myriad of white scars down the left side of shoulder and arm as he moved, and the white material of his dress shifting around his skin. She assumed the scars continued down the rest of his body and were the source of his hobble and the reason his coal black eyes were pinched with pain.

"Ah, now this is a rare surprise." He remarked in Fallien. "What can I do for you, Ahketamikan?"

"Merely looking for some travelling attire for my companion." Iriah replied in Common as she gestured towards Musashi.

The man nodded his head and took the clothing from Iriah's hand. "Good choice. Will help keep him alive longer than that blanket he wears." His Common was heavily accented, even more so than her own, his tongue unsure around the strange sounds it was making. She'd had much of the same issue when she'd first landed in Corone. But months of speaking the language had forced her to learn and now it flowed as easy as water down the Atireyu.

"With me, with me!" The store owner placed a hand on Musashi's arm and gently guided him towards the back of the shop where he could change.

The Akashiman looked back at her a bit uncomfortably and she just waved and smiled, content to wait the short period of time it would take to properly size him.

[Musashi]

Musashi followed the small shop keeper to the back of the store, passing a glance back towards Iriah Clark who was watching the Akashiman being escorted away with a small smile on her face. A lock of purple hair falling past her cheek. The samurai's brown eyes mad contact with the quicksilver of her own as the shopkeeper came to a stop outside a small room off to the side, A thick blue curtain all which stood in the way of modesty for any customer trying any wear out. He was directed in and the curtain closed behind him. Leaving Musashi alone with four feet of space, a hook and a mirror.

"Just come out whenever you're ready."

His Swords took up most of the space. The two blades with the sash hung happily from the hook beside the mirror and prodded awkwardly out, somehow taking up more space than they seemed capable of doing. So much so that as Musashi removed the heavy hakama and the rest of his traditional garb he tossed it over the curtain bar to keep it out of the way. The rush of free air was like a spring breeze! Suddenly Musashi comprehended how big a mistake he had almost made. But he had been protected from the sun. The long sleeves had kept his olive skin their normal shade. His neck had been unprotected and was beginning to cook into a darker shade of red along with the back of his hands. The mirror didn't show anything worse then the beginnings of burns over the Samurai's Lithe, muscled build. Black hair tied traditionally at the top of his head.

His reflection smiled back. Small, refined. But the corners of his mouth turned upwards. Proud of where his life had led him.

The white trousers slid over his legs, Both that and the new top were as free moving as his previous-ware. The gold embroidered green of the Tunic mixed well with the soft colour of his skin. It's sleeves fell comfortably. Iriah had a good eye both items fit well, did not stifle the samurai with heat and allowed him the free movement he needed to use the swords.

A long look at himself in the mirror and Musashi was content. The clothing fit well. The swords and sash, he re-tied around the waist where they hung with a quiet dedication. He pulled down his Hakama and stowed it in his pack. Pulled the Curtain to the side and stepped out. Clad in new clothes he met Iriah's approval with a small nod of her head as she pushed herself off from the wall at the side and making her way over. The gold passed from hand to merchant and the samurai donned the straw hat. Keeping the sun from his neck. It was enough past noon that the desert was cool enough to travel. And wasted time would extend out in the journey.

His survival pack and waterskin would have to be enough. Unless his guide knew of anything else that they would need. His mouth formed words as they both headed out the front door of the store.

"There's nothing more we need here and we should begin before long."

He waved his arm a little. Testing the movement, how the lighter fabric even allowed him to move a little more freely. He was pleased.

[Iriah Caitrak]

Having travelled for so long alone, small talk did not come easily to Iriah. Perhaps other people would take the opportunity to spout useless granules of knowledge and stories of their accomplishments, but that wasn't her. Even when she'd spent months with her lover Malagen, they would talk of themselves and their past, of the training and the future, but it had never seemed like small talk. Malagen did nothing without a purpose to it. They had spent days together on that mountain top where the only words passed between them had been the harsh, unwavering speech of a mentor and a student.

Musashi did not seem off put by silence. He rode next to her with that silly straw hat over his head, his body rocking with the steady rhythm of the beast between his thighs. Without the heavy robes of his homeland adding bulk to his body, Iriah finally got to see the form of the man beneath. When the hot wind blew across the sands, plastering the thin material against him, she could see how lithe he really was. Compact muscles formed from years of training.

She admired it from the corner of her eye, until Musashi broke that stretching silence.

"Your hair," he paused here, as if gathering the right words and she couldn't help but let a smirk cross her mouth, "I've never seen the like before. Why is it such a colour?"

She remained silent for a moment, trying to decide the best way to answer. "It's a mark." Iriah knew that wasn't answer enough, for someone outside of Fallien, but she wasn't sure how much she wanted to tell him. "Proof of being an Ahketamikan, the same as my eyes. Odd hair colour and eye colour is rather common in my tribe."

This answer only seemed to raise his curiosity more. "What exactly is an Ahketa—ahk," he sighed and took a deep breath, "what is the difference with your tribe?"

That silence returned once again. Iriah looked at him and met the brown of his eyes, but was hesitant to answer. While she had grown comfortable enough to no longer care what people thought about her powers and abilities, it was not exactly something she brought up in a simple conversation. It was not exactly something she liked to bring up at all.

She sighed. "We have abilities tha—" Syrahd suddenly jerked beneath her and a nervous whiny covered over her speech.

Iriah tore her gaze to the horizon, expecting to see something there. When she didn't, she pulled up on the Syrahd's reins, bringing the beast to a stop. She watched Musashi do the same a foot or two ahead of her. He swivelled in his saddle, his shadowed face showing confusion as his eyes locked with hers for a brief second.

She said nothing, merely twisted and turned in her own seat, looking for signs that something was amiss.

Nothing moved.

Nothing but the horse beneath her. It shifted restlessly and tossed it's head, a impatience snort forced from it's nose. Even the riderless beast behind her seemed anxious. Turning back around, she reached forward and brushed her hand down Syrahd's neck, trying to calm her. It was then she caught the faint depression in the sand. Over three feet in diameter and just barely noticeable amongst the undulating waves. It lay only a few feet to her right. Knowing what to look for now, she spotted four more of the distinctive impression, one of which was dangerously close to Musashi's left.

"Musashi, I need you to very carefully and very slowly turn your horse to the right and follow our prints out of here."

She met his eyes, and kept her expression cool and relaxed, though she couldn't help the slight green colour that began to seep into her eyes.

[Musashi]

Musashi's horse trotted forward for a couple of steps before stopping as Iriah had. The warrior spun on the hard leather saddle and looked back into the sun, which now silhouetted her outline in the mid-day glow. The rest of her in a shadow that his eyes couldn't penetrate. His guide called for him to turn and back away. Which he did with his eyes however were searching the sands for the perceived danger. A weapon hand gripping the scabbard of his katana blade, thumb pushing at the hilt. An inch of steel exposed to the harsh desert sun.

"What am I looking for?"

In response Iriah lifted her hand. Pointing to just right of his position. Following her hand he noticed. Just a hint of a presence. Knowing what to look for now musashi's sharp eyes saw four more of the same. The rocking of his horse coming to a halt as he pulled up next to the guide as they looked at each other, now in a more dangerous situation than they were in a few minutes ago. "What are they?" The words, still thick with an Akashiman accent, felt like a hushed spear through the silence. A breath of wind through cloth, hair, and sand: the only other sound around them.

Iriah answered quickly before beginning to turn horse to match Musashi's. "Scorpions laying under the sand in wait for prey. They leap at the first sign of weakness. Venomous and best avoided." Colour shifted in her eyes for the first time that the swordsman could see. That and her hair colour was what marked her as different, as part of the Ahketamikan clan. And for this she was shunned. A fate which the Akashiman could not perceive as just. Such opinions were something he knew as best kept to one-self.

He turned his gaze from her eyes to stare down the streatch of desert they had already managed to cross in the hours since their departure."How far should we diver-"Before Musashi's querie had fully formed and left his lungs. The sound of shifting sand caught the attention of his mount. Whose whiney rang out louder than the wind. The creatures not far from them moved closer and Musashi's horse reared up and up. Throwing the unskilled horseman from it's back. The blade had fallen with his hand, a mirror like blade extending from his hand, But the blow had knocked the wind from him. An un-ideal prospect as the first of a potential five black chitinous scorpion beasts shook itself from the sand.

[Iriah Caitrak]

Iriah cursed.

The single word was swallowed in the chaos erupting around her. Musashi's horse landed hard on it's front legs, it's eyes rolling with fear as the large scorpion slithered up from the depths of the sand like some kind of creature from Anandin. It's black body glinted in the blinding light of the sun, making it look like a shimmering visage of death. Dancing on it's hooves, the horse finally turned and bolted, leaving Musashi alone in a spray of sand.

Pulling sharply on the reins of her horse, Iriah forced the creature to turn even as it stomped the ground in nervous fear. Forcing the panic within her stomach down, Iriah concentrated. She channelled energy through the crystal in her leather arm guard as she held her hands out. From seemingly thin air a bow formed in her left hand and an arrow in her right. Breathing in, she pulled back on the string until the fletching kissed the side of her mouth. Bringing the creature into sight, she breathed out, then loosed the arrow. It whistled through the air a second before sinking into the back of the creature's head, piercing right through the hard shell with ease. The scorpion fell to the ground, merely feet away from Musashi. It's legs twitching, even in death.

Dropping the bow from her hands, Iriah grabbed the reins of the mare and dug her heels into the creature's side. She reared onto her hind legs, front hooves pawing at the air in resistance. When she came back down, she danced and bucked, but refused to move forward.

"Murkha azva, parihasaya calati!" Iriah growled out in irritation.

She dug her boots in one more. "CALATI!"

The horse bucked beneath her and practically vaulted itself toward her prone companion. Pulling on the reins at the last second, Iriah stopped the creature from trampling him into an earlier grave than the one he was currently facing. She couldn't get close enough to grab him from the ground though. The horse kept dancing, creating a a small storm of sand around it's hooves.

"Payate!"

While she'd been focusing on the creature beneath her, three more of the sand scorpions had slithered up from their burrows. The mare now became uncontrollable. Iriah would be able to do nothing upon her back.

Twisting, she attempted to dismount the creature, only one of the scorpions spooked her at the same time. The mare jumped. Iriah lost her balance and her foot slipped into the stirrup, catching at the ankle. Her fingers desperately clung to the reins in an attempt to keep her somewhat on the horse. Her one leg trapped, the other half of her body dangling towards the sand. The beast bucked and moved wildly, jamming the metal of the stirrup further against her ankle and jostling her around like a rag doll.

Letting go of the reins with one hand, Iriah wrapped her fingers around the stirrup. Pulling it taunt, the horse suddenly reared and let out an ear piercing cry. She came down hard. Iriah lost her hold. Something crunched, then the mare toppled to the side. Desperately, Iriah tried to throw herself away, only to get stopped short by her leg. The horse fell onto her side, pinning her underneath her massive body. Digging her fingers into the sun scorched sand, she desperately tried to pull herself out from under the horse. The muscles in her arms strained, sweat broke out along her brow and she felt more down her back as she wrenched on her own body. Nothing seemed to work. She couldn't even see Musashi from her new position, but she did see a shimmering black shadow of death heading straight for her.