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The swirl of gorgeous colour joined her in their makeshift square of grass that served as a stage, and Caspa took her cue to add the fourth knife into the carefully juggled pattern. She'd made sure to have the only trick that really needed proper timing and due attention right at the beginning, before chaos had enough time to erupt. She ignored the coy-wolf's entrance, though, restricting herself to imagining the beauty of the coat as the early-evening sunlight fell down on it, draped over her co-performer's graceful shoulders. She was utterly used to the two-legged and four-legged forms, and found a natural beauty in both, although Terra was clearly less comfortable when dressed. Still, she carried it well. Caspa wore a dark leather hood and belt, along with a leather pouch, this filled with stones. Her slim white arms were bare and free, each juggling two knives apiece now, the weapons not crossing in mid-air as they did with the other patterns. Her eyes were resolutely placed upon her work, ignoring the outside world completely. She could hear the noise of passers-by and the fluid shifting audience, but it was as if from a much further distance. Mostly she was listening for the footsteps behind her that would signal her need to throw higher, higher and slower. As soon as it seemed the simple trick of keeping four knives at a time moving had worn stale, the stilt-legged woman added a heftier gravity to her throws, sending each blade a little higher, until they reached an altitude lofty enough to include the fifth.
She ever remembered the day she'd first thrown five soft beanbags up and caught them all. She'd felt unusually nostalgic, and a little wistful. Her youngest sister's name had been Fifth, and five had ever been a significant number for the Al-Fateh. Here in the present moment, there was no room for memories. But each throw she made harked back to that day, and all the practicing she'd done since with anything from apples to stones and clods of earth. Her aim was faultless, although to the untrained eye it looked like a most complicated pattern, it was based on the simplest - the three ball one - and thrown high and slowly, it felt almost effortless. She had to maintain a perfect rhythm now though, because of what came next. Although Terra had been acting when she'd seemed to cut her throat during a rehearsal, it was certainly not the most risk-free trick of their repertoire and the unplanned-for lesson had stuck almost like a knife in Caspa's own throat. Patiently she waited for the moment she must sham surprise but yet act in the most unflustered and predictable way she could.
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