[color=D6CC88]There was a sudden din outside the room where the Ydrans were imprisoned, and one of the guards got to his feet and grabbed a giant sword. The sight made her stomach churn, and suddenly she saw a dozen different scenes that had the sword. Nymira trying to fend it off, grimacing at the force of the blow that struck her daggers. Cecil breaking it in half. Zander, his staff sliced in half by the huge blade, backpedaling frantically to get out of range but not fast enough. Someone she didn't know, in a hood, expertly deflecting a strike and when the man's arms went wide, driving her own weapon into him. Ethan, using his magic to blow the man with the big sword away, only to have another slaver stab him from behind. Wyth, leaping at the man who wielded it, only to be cut down when the slaver recovered quicker than expected, and the cat falling to the ground in a crumpled, bloody heap. Tears filled Amuné's eyes, but they didn't blur her Sight, and the images whirled through her head. A sound somewhere between a shriek and a keen burst from her before she could stop it, though she quickly bit her knuckle, so she wouldn't do it again. That wasn't going to happen, it wasn't. Wyth was a smart boy, he'd be fine. He was big and strong and nobody could match his speed and agility. Not everything she saw was right, and this was one of those, something that wouldn't actually happen. But she still felt sick. It would be her fault if they got hurt, her fault for wandering off, for getting taken. The Ydran man from before touched her shoulder, and she nearly jumped out of her skin. She realized with a start that all the others in the cage were looking at her, though the guards were more concerned with the fighting than with a frightened girl. "Are you alright, child?" the older Ydran asked, dropping his hand now that he had her attention. No, she really wasn't, but that was never the answer people wanted when they asked, so Amuné just looked away. The man sighed and sat down with his back to the wall, though not so close as to crowd her. "Who is it you fear for, hm?" The girl froze, blood turning to ice. Had she said something about the vision out loud? Ydrans were better than Murans, but these were still strangers. "I don't want my friends getting hurt," she mumbled, barely able to push the words out through the tightness in her throat. It was a weak lie, but given the circumstances maybe it would be believed. "I'm scared." "Come here child." The woman that had told them all to shush earlier spread her arms to offer Amuné a hug, and the girl scooted closer to accept. "It's okay to be frightened," she continued. "Anyone would be. Being brave doesn't mean not being afraid. It means doing what you can even though you're frightened." She paused. "You know, I have a boy about your age. I'm afraid of not getting back to him. I'm afraid of leaving him to grow up without a mother. And that's why I'm going to keep an eye out for any chance I see to get out of here." The pessimist of the group snorted, but didn't actually say anything, and Amuné frowned. She could be brave, couldn't she? She could look for a chance to escape. She might even be able to do it a little better. But it was hard to focus, and her magic didn't respond to her attempts to bring it forth. Maybe that was just as well, if she succeeded she'd be tired, and that would be bad if they had to run. So she settled for watching the guards in the room. --- Wyth tackled one of the bad men through a doorway. The man had turned to run, and that let the cat have easy access to his neck and spine, which he promptly bit through. One of the next two he saw shoved the other out of the way. This one had a big sharpened metal stick. Those sticks were dangerous, and there wasn't enough room in the hall for Wyth to maneuver well. His ears pricked up as he heard his girl again, but her voice came from past the man with the stick. He needed one of the people to help him -- they were smaller, and could move better in the narrow space. Laying his ears back and baring his teeth, the moorcat let out a full-throated roar, trying to intimidate the man before him into hesitating. His girl would hear too, and know he was coming for her. His ploy worked, and as the one with the stick took a step back, Wyth whirled and dashed towards where he heard noise from one of the others. Most of the bad men had smaller sticks, and their reach was not so long that the agile cat couldn't avoid most of their strikes. Then too, the sight of a giant and furious beast bearing down on them was terrifying, and more than a few tried to flee, or were frozen the critical instant that was the difference between having a chance and certain death. Wyth picked up a few bruises and cuts from those possessed of more than the average amount of courage, where they managed to hit him hard enough that his thick fur didn't absorb most of the damage. By the time he reached the room with Ethan and Cecil, that included one particularly deep one across his foreleg that left him favoring that paw a bit, but it was nothing compared to the trail of dead or bleeding slavers he left behind him. Cecil was helping Ethan overcome the man he was wrestling with, and the moorcat let those two handle that man. Instead, he lunged toward another that had just entered the room through another doorway, intent on trying to backstab Cecil. Wyth gathered himself and covered the second half of the room in a leap, slamming into the man with his considerable bulk and bearing him to the ground, his powerful bite penetrating the skull and driving his teeth into the man's brain, killing him.[/color]