As the Seer regained her balance, assisted by Jareth, a sudden and pervasive sense of someone preparing an attack filled her.  Tsitua had claimed she would be safe here, but she believed her senses far more than she trusted him, and Amuné had her knife in her hand moments later.  The threat fragmented into images that flitted past her eyes.  The man with the towel, dying on a twisted spear of metal.  Pain exploding through her head as chunks of metal tore through it.  Jareth, a look of shock on his face as he looked down at the blood welling around  one through the front of his ribcage.  His luck had failed him, and he'd been run through as he tried to move between Amuné and whatever it was that brushed threatening fingers across the edge of her mind.  And when she tried to catch herself as she slid to the ground, she discovered the lancing agony in her arm was because the hunk of shrapnel had cut it clean off.

When Eric checked on the pair, he found her with the knife held at her side in a firm but casual grip.  She was trying to disentangle her perception from the unusually strong influence her Sight had abruptly exerted over it.  Amuné turned toward the sound of his voice, but the first words she spoke came before she was fully grounded.  "A horrid fate," she told him, then frowned and gave herself a sharp shake.  She'd learned not to speak visions aloud years ago, now, so why had she slipped?  "Sorry.  Ah, did you say something?"

Jareth didn't know exactly what had just transpired, but at least she seemed alright.  "...I'm not sure," he said after a moment.  "Something happened, I just don't know what."

[@TheMinorFall]