“With my blessing.”

The guards drew their swords. The soldier bolted. He stuttered first left, darted right and then waffled into a feeble backpedal. The Tree was at his back, and before him, beyond the advancing henchmen, there was nowhere to run. The predatory trio fanned out, blocking any possible avenue of escape. Within moments they closed the gap and moved to within grasping distance of the Indiran.

Clutching the Tinderbox protectively to his chest, the soldier suddenly found himself in a spastic game of keep-away. He dodged and ducked, changing directions in a jerky jig that kept him just out of reach of his pursuers. It wasn’t long before he was narrowly evading the aggravated swipes of their swords.

The circle of evasion grew smaller and tighter, and The Which could barely follow the frenzy of flying limbs and weapons. An angry thrust of the younger guard’s blade hummed past the prince and nearly impaled the guard’s elder partner. In the apologetic pause that followed, the Indiran scrambled away, only to run face-first into the chest of the Leftist.

After a grunt and an unsuccessful grab from the unarmed brute, the soldier skittered backward. The elder guard was poised to strike, and he brought the hilt of his sword decisively down onto the crown of the soldier’s head. The Tinderbox flew from his hand.

The eyes of The Which locked onto it like a drowning person intent on the shore. The box soared some distance in a tumbling arc and descended into a jumble of jagged rubble near the Tree.

The front of the box scraped a rock upon landing, yellow sparks flashing briefly.

The soldier struggled to raise himself on wobbly arms, writhing weakly at the feet of the panting guards. They looked eager to deliver a few more vindictive blows, but their prisoner gave up the fight and flopped feebly into the dirt.

Inelegant for perhaps the first time in her life, The Which scrambled madly after the liberated box, her robes flapping loosely about her, arms extended with fingers splayed and grasping. She plucked up the Tinderbox triumphantly. Her vindication turned quickly to confusion and concern.

A single red light above the striker panel on the box blinked ominously. Trepidation trickled through her just before she heard a sound—a vibrating buzz, low and threatening like the warning of a carnivore—and it came from the direction of the fallen soldier.

She turned in time to see her entourage backing slowly away from the fallen soldier. They stared not at the prisoner, but at a space in the air just above him. It took The Which a moment to pinpoint their focus.

The source of the disquieting growl was a small orb floating inexplicably and protectively over the inert Indiran. Two razor-thin blades erupted suddenly from its sides. The Which fled in panic, the Tinderbox clutched to her bosom.