Moonspear I don't play if I can't win.

When she came to him, it was with the chilling confidence of a panther in the night; having pursued her prey and found it wounded, she wove between familiar trees without a sound; he would wonder later on if the wind slackened to her will, if the trees stopped their whispering because of her presence. Her attention was felt keenly and had he the will, the boy would have let the earth devour him if it meant an easing of her purposeful restraint. When she spoke to him it was with a level tone, resolute; it was the voice of someone accustomed to giving orders, and had Blitzkrieg managed to glance upon her, he would see a tumult of steel in her gaze.

He took a breath and it shuddered through him. His sides moved like a bellows, in, out, in, hardly changing despite his prone status against the dirt. He thought - surely - that she would step across the line and snuff the life from him in a second if he did not do as commanded, but by holding his breath and trying to force the rapidity of his pulse to ebb, he made himself sick with vertigo. The boy swayed, and gasped, and soon enough was able to speak.

Although, the stranger had questions. Blitzkrieg's face pinched at the brow; he had forgotten about the adornment to his neck. Wh-what? Oh, oh this -- no, his chin dipped and he looked awkwardly at the black line across the cream of his throat, then up again, catching the menacing shine of her eyes for but a moment. That's nothin', really. I... The mountain, the.. The lands south, they tremble. They shake like -- oh, hell, I sound a few sticks short ova dam, aye? A loon. He sounded utterly bonkers and he knew it. I was runnin' cuz the earth wanted tah eat me. Have you felt it?