If it had, maybe it would have seen the Garnet perched among the birds, claws sunk deep into a branch, crimson eyes gleaming as it observed. For the past four cycles, it made infrequent trips down to Leo, tracking down the Orthoclase, the only one who had proven worthy before the fall, watching. Waiting.

How often had the Garnet distracted a greater before it drew to close, leading strangers away before they found its clutchmate? A lesser bolting at the right moment into a greater's path, a distant crash to draw attention elsewhere, or a hidden voice whispering in their ear; time, and time, and time again. The Orthoclase would never know. In fact, no one would. As far as their Master knew, the Garnet was ignorant of where the Orthoclase had even gone.

It intended to keep it that way.

Unfortunately, time was running out for Alpha. A darkness stirred in the assassin's mind, one that spoke of comeuppance and death to those who had failed again and again. This was how it was made to think, perhaps not by any one individual (not even its Master) but by its own nightmares and fears and, yes, ambition. So why, then, was it here? Was there something else--?

The Garnet waited for a while, watching, doing nothing as it often did. Surveying. Master Vargas would find the Orthoclase soon enough; it did not try to hide, not truly. It scrambled away to the same den day in and day out, its own decay-filled scent now burned into the hillside. There had to be an answer. The Garnet dug deep into its magic, trying to take hold of the Orthoclase's mind, to find some semblance of life, of thought, of anything it could use, and instead-- nothing. Only static.

There's no way, the Garnet's inner most thoughts whispered from afar, cast out to the Orthoclase. At first, so faint it might not have even noticed, carried on a prickling feeling of dread. Of worry. And for once, not interlaid with selfish intent; because the Garnet's life was not on the line in the slightest. No. This concern? It could only come from... I've watched for cycles and it's only gotten worse. What am I going to do when Vargas finds it? It was the only one worth anything-- The winged feline's nose twitched, its muscles tensing. What do I say?

The Garnet and the Orthoclase's eyes met. Recognition beneath that fog that Cain couldn't penetrate. How? It had never noticed the Garnet before, why now, why then? It was perfectly blended into the birds above, even a red sense would typically been fooled, unless... Had it sensed Cain's magic? But--

No matter.

Its wings spread as the Orthoclase cowered like prey. Pupils narrow slits of darkness in a sea of red, it reached out with its magic once more to grasp the beast and command it still; to silence the quaking fear so it would listen, so that Cain could deliver its warning and...

Something snapped. Magic, which had already failed terribly once, bucked at the Garnet's attempted, panicked reach for control. Hadn't this happened before, little Garnet? Hadn't you tried to bridge this gap, only to fall into a terrible storm?

The Garnet's limbs seized as it started to push off, and immediately, without wings shifting to catch the air, it plummeted like a stone into the underbrush. There was a startled cry, a pathetic mewl, one that was cut short as it hit the bush bellow and tumbled into the dirt, its body briefly not its own.

Oh, the Garnet could do nothing but watch. True fear, one that it had felt in the hearts of its prey, day in and day out, blossomed from its own chest. It fought for control of its magic, fought for control of its body, fought for its life... and yet, how helpless.

Orthoclase-Alpha was the only one to ever see its weakness.

Teeth snapped at it; life flashing before its eyes. The Orthoclase knew how to kill, even when it was half-alive, it destroyed deer and rabbits stumbling into its path without flinching. The Garnet should have been no different. Teeth snatched its wing, tearing the limb from socket, nearly yanking the whole thing from its flesh; before the Orthoclase let go, letting the mangled hybrid fall to the floor once more.

It could move again, but there was no way it could fly. In this condition, it certainly couldn't outrun the Orthoclase. So what was it to do? The Garnet shuttered, gasping and biting back tears and whimpers, steeling itself as it felt more agony that it had ever experienced in its life.

Its clutchmate, precious Orthoclase-Alpha, all muscle and power and strength, somehow a beacon of safety yet the only creature to ever hurt it. Was there something poetic in that? Or was it just sad. Now they both trembled, shaking, stripped down bare to basic instinct.

One thought shuttered through the Garnet-- through Delta's mind-- Master Vargas could not be witness to this, to its injuries. He would ask, and Delta would be forced to tell the truth, or lie, there would be no way around it. Its vision filled with hot white spots of pain, wing laying limply over it, the smell of blood and Alpha's foul breath stinging its nostrils.

Instinct screamed to run anyway. To hide. To fight back with magic, to defend itself. It clenched its jaw, and fought every urge with tears pricking its eyes.

"Idiot," Delta hissed through its teeth, "I came to warn you, you-- you selfish--" Teeth snapped tight over its tongue. It needed to heal, but its magic refused to listen to its frightened master. It pushed itself to its feet and felt a molten knife driven deep into its shoulder blade; it couldn't hold its weight well on its front leg, either.

Crimson eyes burned up at the Orthoclase, trying to hold some semblance of control in the encounter. If Alpha wanted to, it could kill Delta.

And yet.

The Orthoclase retreated. The part-cat, feral, injured beast lurched forward, hissing and spitting twice as viciously, emboldened by the mammoth's retreat. The fear was gone for an instant, replaced by anger, by spite, by a fury that came with the need to protect itself.

"That's right, run!" It snapped, teeth bared with saliva flicking from the incisors with every word. "Master Vargas is sick of waiting for you!" Driving home the knife, brandishing it like a mugger in an alley, "He's coming! So run and hide, like everyone else does! You're just like them!"

The little feline puffed up, staggering forward, tail lashing, ears pinned back and claws exposed. "Just like Beta, just like Epsilon, just like Chaos-Two-- you are better than that! You were supposed to be better than that!" Fur bristled, adrenaline surging in to fuel the full blown tantrum.

Again, it pulled for its magic, perhaps more subconsciously than ever, but there was something holding it back. Something keeping the reigns from its claws, something leaving it defenseless all but for its barking.

"Take your warning and GET OUT OF MY SIGHT!"

The Orthoclase fled.

Maybe it would run straight into their Master. Maybe, it would buy itself more time. The Garnet slumped to the earth as it crashed away, gasping for breath through the tremors of pain. Adrenaline was wearing thin, shock soon to come.

Its magic. It needed to heal. Surely it knew how.

As soon as it was alone, the magic came limping back like a beaten dog, slotting back into place within its stone. Its wing snapped up, bones crunching, as magic crashed through the Overseer's body. Muscle reknit. Skin stitched together. It was absolute agony, the Garnet's vision swimming.

But it was alone now, and among the bushes, it probably looked no more like an injured bird. It didn't want to stay there, lest something come along and try to eat it, so as soon as the magic healed its body, it forced itself to its feet and took flight, scrambling up into the trees. It found a place among the branches to settle, shuttering, and stared out into the forest.

The distant crashing quieted.

Cain felt its eye lids heavy, but it didn't allow itself sleep. It watched, not wanting to be caught off-guard. It did allow itself rest, swallowing breaths, letting its limbs stop shaking.

Shock did find itself a home in the feline's heart. So to did numbness. Cain felt nothing at all, because it was easy. Because it was simpler than the alternative... And, once it had recovered, it could make its way home and put the whole affair behind it. It tucked its head under its wing, grooming the blood and saliva from its fur, and then from its wing.

Some more rest, until it could stand without shaking, and then it would return to its duties.