"Good, good. Good. It would be disappointing and difficult for me if you did not feel outmatched in at least one way. Remember your Shantri. Wish for her. And then! Sing your song with me! I shall become your harp, if your hands are skilled enough!"

All out warfare. That is what this situation calls for. An absolute blizzard of defensive techniques. Mirror fights strictly through the medium of counterattacks, only ever opening herself up in the space allowed by Kiarala's testing, and never committing to the death blow hard enough to expose her in exchange in the aftermath. 

Tails One and Two, maintain claw technique. Her swipes are precise and lighter than falling feathers. They scrape paint and carve secret runes and leave behind the sensation of clothing being slowly cut apart in provocative patterns. Here you go, a Mayze Szerpaws original. Tail 3 replaces her trident and offers something to physically parry the spear with that also helpfully shifts to a floating position above the shoulder whenever a counterattack opportunity presents itself. She never swings - that would be a punishable commitment of resources.

Tails Four, Five, and Six are on laser duty. Their shots are heavier, normally, than the Ginger Tiger's, but today the intensity is dialed down. When they fire, it is directly at beams that Kiarala shoots first and only with enough power to cancel them out. In itself this is a very difficult technical display, and it's own fun sort of minigame. The calculations are complex enough and the actions so fast that it purges old patterns from her mind. Soothing. A cold wind across her face that makes meditation tolerable.

Peace.

Hm. Amusing thought. All actions contain packets of information inside of them. Kiriala's assertion. Not incorrect, either. A puzzle box unfolds as you solve it, and even in revealing the depths of its complexity it cannot help but speak to you of its construction. Riddles that should be increasing in complexity instead become simpler purely off the back of the overall possibility space shrinking as it opens. A cloud chasing reeds and the river runs dry, as the saying goes. An ancient paradox of sorts, taken from old water plants that spread their seeds in response to the dry season. A sudden flurry of movement, vastly increasing complexity, and in its wake nowhere to hide. In other words, strange seemings make everything clearer. 

And yet. Complexity increases, and basic answers become more difficult to deliver confidently. Those same seeds inevitably go to ground, and come the rainy season there is no exact pattern even today capable of accurately predicting the new growing patterns. Which will take root, which will sprout, which among them will grow too quickly and be eaten by the local birds and early fish returning to the riverbed themselves to spawn. Which patches will gather nourishment to grow the thickest and which shall avoid the stinging bites of insects and plague. Indeed, the supposed simplicity of the reveal disguised a nightmare of new challenges to solve, and assumed wisdom would need to alter from year to year lest habit make a meal out of efficient huntresses. 

"Curiosity. We have spoken very little [i]to[/i] one another, but we have each been listening intently. Yes? You would agree? Three times as of now, I have mentioned my intentions to fight you as the Ultimate Warrior. Do you know to whom that refers?"

Tail Five neutralize shot at 'three o'clock' angle. Tail three parry, off balance spear, rushing jab clips shoulder at base of neck. Quick leap, take to air, kick off of back. Thruster fire, oh-point-seven-five seconds. Spin, low stance. Defense, defense, defense. Damage only possible via avoidance. Tail Six rise to threat horizon, Tail Four return to point defense. Resume pseudo-trident stance. Breathe.

It's a fifty-fifty chance, or near enough. As likely as wondering what side a wafer might land on if tossed toward the sun. Solarel's reputation as a one-woman blade that cut the Net of Hybrasil into humiliating bits is buried deep enough in their culture's psyche that little kittens today have started telling ghost stories about her to each other. But the official position of Hybrasil is that the war ultimately ended in feline victory, and some even claim she only penetrated so deeply as part of a clever trap on the behalf of high command. 

She is a lurking terror whose name is mud. Not so different from the Whispered Promise who loves her, really. But knowing who it refers to and what it actually means are entirely different challenges, by a full order of magnitude. The scattered reeds are growing again, and soon the rains will flood the valley. What shall our hunting grounds look like, O Beloved of Maeahu?

Have figured who her heart is wishing for, like yours is for your Shantri? And do you understand the nature of the deadliest blade that fearsome warrior ever swung?

Has it occurred to you, darling Kiriala, that she might [i]lie?[/i]

(Roll with Wit is an [b]11[/b])