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fufufufufufufufufuffffffuu skip first three paragraphs stupid introspection ajgiejrgejgeijg SORRY ._.
Ithiel is by me!
He, too, had been preparing. Ithiel had no swords, no shields, no heavy armor. The wolf he'd faced was heavily armed and armored, and his horse was magnificently trained -- as he thought Lystra had once been. While his mount had proven her worth, she had been worked into a frenzy by the end of the fight, and she had been surly and sour of mood in the days afterward. She was not the only issue he faced, however: Inferni, fighters they might be, was a clan of mostly unarmed canines, in much the same predicament as Ithiel himself.
He knew little enough about the making of fine weapons, but a staff was not a difficult thing to procure and make, and he had made three thus far, with a fourth in the works. One was given to his cousin, another to his grandmother, and the third to one of Inferni's newest recruits, Chryses. The coyote was older than Ithiel by far, but she had proven to have a rudimentary competence with the weapon -- unlike Myrika, whom he'd had high hopes for. His cousin's discomfort with the weapon was apparent immediately to the dusty man. Still, it was not the only weapon in the world, and perhaps, with time, she might acquire some proficiency with it.
Time was not something the clan had much of, however. Ithiel did not think such a probing attack would precede months of nothing -- and so, he had increased his patrols, working harder and sleeping less. He did not need much to begin with, and during mindless work such as carving arrows or bows, the dusky man could almost nap as he sat -- his hands continued their work uninstructed, it was so familiar to him. Wood-working was never something he had particularly enjoyed, nor was it a skill he used for superfluous ends. Nothing creative or beautiful had ever come from his hands, worn and calloused as they were.
His horse moved below him, and the dusky man headed across the Waste, intending to stop off at the mansion before making a round of the borders. Lystra was wonderfully compliant in comparison to her old self, but Ithiel still had not reused the hackamore -- he preferred the stronger bit, and it seemed she appreciated the added edge of control. The cry reached his ears and he sat up straight in his saddle, listening with dark ears to the sound of alarm. A moment later, he was speeding across the Waste, bow already in hand. He did not take out the arrow until he could see the mansion, and then the reins were in his teeth and he was driving toward them.
The dark-furred coyote leaned low in his saddle and drew back on his bow, aiming at the man firing toward Vesper. It was only as Ithiel drew nearer he saw the shape of the bow and recognized it for what it was: a crossbow. The dusky coyote snorted and his horse made the same noise almost with him. His own arrow flew, but the man had moved his position and it sailed harmlessly past. Ithiel drew again, knowing his reload would be faster than the man's crossbow. He must capitalize on that. Firing again, the man sent an arrow toward his opponent, seeking to draw him off the Optio at the very least.
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