WC:511
TaeKyung’s dark auricles swiveled to catch her master’s order. The slave herself offered no response to her master, but would acknowledge and obey with her actions. And yet, the slave hesitated, desiring to depart from the young one’s side. An arrow nearly caught Salvia in the head, but for luck it simply flew by, hitting only empty air. As Salvia was thrown to the ground, TaeKyung shifted as if to move and attack the earthen-hued opponent who rode the prey-beast. The Jindo blood within the black one compelled loyalty to her master, and the Slave of the Flame felt a cold compulsion to rush to Salvia’s side and fight. But the shrill scream of the child at her back held her fast, as if her throat were bound by an invisible leash that had been passed from Salvia to the young, ranked girl. A growl of frustration erupted from the Korean’s throat as she wheeled around, following first and foremost the orders of her one and only master.
Lunar orbs were aflame with the heat of battle, the desire to fight filling her with a seemingly unquenchable, sanguine thirst. But this child came first—detestable youth. The slave covered the distance between herself and the child with lightning haste, grasping the fallen child with strong, worn fists. The gesture could have been mistaken for kindness, but there was no kindness or warmth within the martial artist’s touch. Lifting the young girl to her feet, the Korean woman manage to scoop up the fallen blade with two free fingers. TaeKyung kept those white orbs lowered—indeed, she kept her attention mostly upon the attackers. Calloused hands thrust the blade into the girl’s right hand and helped to wrap her fingers tightly about the handle. This was a time to fight. With the girl on her feet and armed again, the slave felt that the girl was safe enough for her to turn her back—and so she did. The slave wheeled about to face the attackers once more, and yet she placed herself between the danger and the child.
As Salvia and her father focused on an armored opponent, TaeKyung took to the earthen-hued enemy. The Slave snarled a wild cry, openly challenging the thing upon the prey-beast. As he rushed her, she slid to the side before throwing her body up in the air, twisting in a deliberate and powerful way as she aimed her jumping wheel kick to his head. It was an attempt to knock him off his horse and hopefully knock him unconscious. If she missed, the Korean would land and move, always stable upon her feet. Snarling, she would challenge the horse as well, grasping the halter and turning its head abruptly to one side as if to turn it in another direction. Unmerciful claws would tear into the horse’s soft and muscular neck flesh, causing blood to fall upon the battlefield. And yet the circumference, deliberately too small, would cause the horse to fall on his side, for a moment causing chaos for the brown-hued opponent.
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