It was only in the last instant that Timir realized the trap. He'd leapt around the edge of the rock, and--nothing. Nothing was there! Alarm screamed through his mind, and he heard the softest scratch of claws, the skitter of pebbles just behind him.

He whirled, flinching back with his whole body, calling on the air around him without even thinking. His teeth gritted and he very nearly yelped as Vargas's grab was blown just off-course by the wall of air that Timir raised up before him. He trembled with the effort, eyes wide--and struggled too with the sudden spike of triumphant bloodlust that made him want to launch himself for the hulking monster staggering above him. That made him want to win.

- THE LEVIATHAN -

Vargas noted, with some approval, the quick reaction times. And the new magic, too.

But this match-up was unfair by its very nature, and the millennia-old Master Valkhound raised one spiked forelimb before simply smashing through the weak barrier of air. With time, he knew, Nineteen could hone it stronger--but this one was faltering already.

When he felt the blast of wind part around his fist, he arrested the power of his strike, so that the hit he landed was barely more than a tap. A light thump, maybe, at the worst--and certainly not a stabbing with his spikes.

Then he took a step back, and a breath. "Good," he declared. And to his well-trained eye, he could see that Timir was growing exhausted.

"...Come. We will eat, and discuss what you can improve." He began to pick his way down the mountainside, speaking as he went. "You learned, I see, that cover can be used against you. A higher position helps. You can see down into places that you cannot see over, otherwise." He glanced to Nineteen, who was panting. "Learning magic to allow you to strike from a distance will help. The trickery with the pebbles was good! -That was trickery, yes? Tell me what else you have learned."

He had lost.

It was hard to dwell on the failure, though, if only because Vargas was already talking, marching on, demanding that Timir follow and mentally keep up, too. He was briefly confused, but quickly hastened to trot after him.

He listened, thinking back over the 'hunt,' doing his best to learn what Vargas was teaching him--to commit it all to memory. And--what else had he learned?

He thought Vargas had pretty much covered it all, to be honest. He needed to be able to hit from a distance. He had to be able to see his prey, one way or another. "Your... other magic is useful," he decided, thinking. "Hiding yourself. Can I learn that?" and here he glanced up at Vargas.

"And..." Timir paused, and considered. If he could use his magic to mimic any sound, did that mean..? His head tilted thoughtfully, and as he walked, the bizarre honking and whistling sounds that Vargas's feet had made earlier began to sound again, if a little oddly muffled.

He looked very seriously to the Leviathan, who was staring blankly back. "I have learned that this sound... is very distracting," he informed the Master solemnly.

It wasn't even a joke.

(exit Timir and Vargas both)