In the week that the storms reached their apex, the two magicians reached the southern end of the basin. The sudden slope gave way to wooded hills that were home to beastkin, rather than the mountainside that housed the rougher mabeast.
Not to be underestimated, both species had a formidable skill with magic. Imbuing their claims, and strengthening their life force. Within their territory, it is said that they can never be ambushed or overwhelmed by the elements.
The latter are known for nomadic tendencies, quick reaction times and a fluency in elemental combat. Unknowingly, the two magicians arrived deep in their territory.
The breeze stirred through the underbrush. A figure, hooded in patchwork of every pastel, knelt down to run a hand through the ferns. A smug gleam, at odds with the tenderness of their frame. One by one, they drew the herbs to a pouch on their hip.
A stick broke, and the figure stilled. In spite of that, the rustling continued. The breeze stilled, as the figure followed the sound. The shifting forms of the head caused them to bite their lip, anticipating the worst.
As the treeline gave way to the culprits, the figure stiffened. Their garbs foreign to the tribe, it took a moment to place them, but they did. Sorcerers of the mountain hold.
One of them dipped and withdrew an armload of herbs. The figures' indignation spiked, “You have no business being here, outsider!” The prized herbs were developing still. After weeks of meticulous appraising, she was not about to give them up.
A deft hand burst the haul of the smaller one. The larger mage reacted quickly for their kind, and the figure became wary for retaliation.
Tracy gazed abhorrently at her hands. The bundle spread uncontrollably from her arms. Reflexively, she reached out to the plants. Her pride soured as she found a number would go to waste, and her gaze shot to the beastkin.
The wave of foliage thumped. For a split second, the figure felt the upwelling, but in her distraction was too slow to take heed.
The air shimmered. Seams of pressure - shimmering like a barrel of heat - bowled into the figure. Hood flung back with a howl of anguish, two long ears revealed themselves, and the bunny crashed to the ground.
For a split second, the rabbit was repentant, had it not been for the furrow carved through her garden. Disbelief warred in her mind, the rabbit pivoted. From back fall to runner's stance in a half spin, she poised to retaliate.
“Rainbow? What has happened?” From the treeline, a brown bear emerged, stopped short when they saw the two magicians there. The bear glanced at the rabbit and moved to intervene.
Tracy felt earth move, and immediately struck out. The bear watched her aura lurch, and immediately raised their guard.
One hand pressed to the ground, and the other in a rising block. A wall of earth formed between them. Even before it was set, Tracy’s aura began to cut grooves in the barrier.
The rabbit ‘rainbow’ reared in upset, “Berry!?”
“Go! Rai, Hurry!”
The earth cracked, and as she was lifted to her feat, the rabbit huffed in relent. Breaking away with a burst of speed. The roles were reversed as the bear struggled to manage her footingwork.
Brenda glanced warily, to the twitching form of the savant, “Tracy?” They may very well find themselves ill favored by a tribe.
Raising a fist, and checking her temper with an opening flick, she replied, “Let them come. If it’s a fight they want, they’ll have it.”
“Diplomacy, Tracy?” Brenda beseeched her.
“If they don’t.”
Brenda frowned in thought, “Would you apologize?” It was a step either way. Not that remorse was expected after a fit like that.
… “Sure.” Cold, indifferent. Yet, the way that Tracy had examined her resolve was devoid of lingering grief. It wouldn’t stand to say she was untouched, but if all else failed, it was just as well.
“Thank you. Do as you will. I won’t stand in your way.”
