Damn that Harding wench!

Cub jostled back and forth mere centimeters from the scorpion's sharp exoskeleton as the stinger overhead thrashed violently. Put your gear in this barrel she said, it'll be much safer she said, bah! Cub dug his fingers deeper beneath the beast's carapace as tried desperately to...do whatever he was doing. He'd never been one for planning but how he ended up in such a predicament perplexed even Cub's notoriously strange line of thinking. Besides, there were more important things to worry about; for instance, the fact his chosen steed seemed to be much less receptive to steering than Shavie.

"Watch out, runaway scorpion!" Cub called ahead as the writhing insect beneath his scuttled frantically towards the fray, up and over its fallen comrades and on a collision course with Harding's crew. Cub's head darted up from its perch clenched close to his green chest only to be hastily batted back down by a near fatal tail strike whizzing past his ear. "That's it!" Twisting the Dagger free from behind the scorpion's head, Cub released his make shift reins and thrust the blade as deep as he could given its diminutive size, especially in his hands. It took several laboured strike but the insect finally sputtered to a stall somewhere between Harding and Marassa though the latter was quickly opening the gap. With a stern glare he lept from the carcass and made for Harding and, more importantly, his gear.

"Cub, Hravlar! Give me a hand here!"

Or not.

Cub's eyes narrowed as Marassa's call to arms sent a chilling challenge down his spine. This was it. His friends needed him, needed him now. No excuses. No running.
...
No gear.

Quickly wrapping his paws around the lifeless stinger of the massive scorpion, Cub wretched forth the makeshift weapon from its stalk. Setting it aside to let the vile poison leak out on its own, he turned to defense.

With a roar of determination, Cub peeled the carapace from the Scorpion's back leaving the sinewy muscle beneath to the predators of this land. With no quick way to affix it to his chest, Cub threw several powerful blows of his large fist against the makeshift armour biting the sharp ends into his thick hide and leaving small streams of crimson in their wake. It was far from a perfect set up and left his rear and flank extremely exposed but it took only a few seconds compared to scouring the beach for his cuirass and greaves.

Powerful legs pumping, Cub quickly closed the gap to Marassa, his momentum allowing him to shoulder through a scuttering devil approaching her flank. "You called?" With a smile he'd not worn in months, Cub felt the weight of the world fall from his shoulders. No Dagger. No Voice. This was where he belonged, at his friends' side. He needed them as much and they needed him, how had he forgotten that so easily? What had happened to cloud his judgement so?

He'd have to ask Shavie later.