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Date Posted: 23:05:08 10/17/03 Fri
Author: Lhall
Subject: Another crash.

"Landing in approximately three minutes."

Antique gold eyes open very slowly, blurred vision coming into focus as seconds tick groggily past in the relative silence of the craft's descent into atmosphere. A sleep-fogged mind translates the message and quite suddenly, the Sela within is no longer hampered by the lingering tranquilizer. A snarl ricochets off the metal walls as struggling commences, and lean muscles burn at their first use in months of comatose space travel. Pearly claws scrabble against the cold flooring as a low, liquid growl rips from a long throat and the male wriggles, moonblade twisting about to slice some of his bonds into shreds.

"Approaching zero hour. Landing is imminent."

Glossy hematite-colored fur ripples as Lhall's thrashing grows more pronounced, but the sudden high-pitched wailing from outside the craft warns him in time; he tenses and braces himself against the inner walls of the shuttle as it crashes into the earth, tearing a long furrow in the soil and plowing through some saplings. After several meters of grinding, the slowed craft slams into the base of a massive tree and crumples.

Within, Lhall is thrown forward and torn free of most of his bonds. Swift, effortless strikes with his moonblade sever the rest of the chains and metal cords, and the white-maned male is able to stand shakily, winded and slightly bruised from the crash but otherwise unharmed. Slender limbs picking their way gracefully from the middle of the craft, Lhall approaches the crumpled part of the hull right next to the tree and studies it in the near-darkness of power loss. Thin metal to begin with, especially for a space-faring craft, it had dented and torn so much that a few powerful blows with claw and moonblade freed the male.

The rich scent of life hits him strongly, and for a moment the Scholar is stunned, unable to do more than simply breathe in the air of a real world, so different from the stale, recycled air of Jhee laboratories. Then, darkened gold eyes darting about, the Sela takes the first step onto ruddy soil and away from the stench of slagged metal. In fact, that first step turns into a clipped, beautiful trot, Lhall not looking back at his shuttle as he leaves it behind in the foliage. The smells that wash over his sculpted muzzle are delicious, and though common sense dictates caution as necessary, for a long time the young male cannot bring himself to be properly alert and on edge.

Until, that is, a snarl on his left greets him. Some sort of low-slung feline, black fur scratched and bloodied in myriad small wounds, charges forward, jaws gaping; Lhall leaps easily out of range, lips curling high to reveal vicious fangs as his pearly moonblade swings past his hip and slices at the creature's head in a warning shot. Sweeping his torso downwards into a spontaneous crouch, long ears flatten and he leans back onto his haunches while still crouched, lashing out with both forepaws as he whips his tail back, providing brief balance as his claws rip across the black cat-thing's face. It snarls and jerks away, fleeing through the underbrush as Lhall completes a smooth rising motion, completely unruffled.

Nostrils flare as the dark Sela sniffs the air. There is a young, frightened scent attached to the feline's more primitive one; Warrior training kicks in and Lhall is tracking the smell before he realizes he's begun to move. A fit male, it only takes him a few minutes to find the creature that he seeks, and by then he's realized he'd best be cautious. Ears pricking, cord-bound white mane rippling silkily against his neck with the wind of his own speed, Lhall gradually slows to a graceful trot as darkly gold eyes finally catch sight of the Zrruvan. Moonblade carried low behind him in a peaceable posture, the shapely male steps into plain view and stops, expressionlessly examining Xi for a long, long moment. It takes him that long to figure out the gender or lack thereof of this strange youngling, and once he manages to do so, he dips his sleek muzzle in a friendly nod. "Shiana," he murmurs in a kind tenor, a greeting from his homeworld.

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