Mynx awoke with a start, hearing the sound of Tris and Adam yelling for everyone to wake. She grumbled, letting out a soft hiss as she threw back the fur and reached to shake Jamon. She stiffened, aware of his absence before her hand fell upon the empty space. She let out an angry huff, grabbing for her clothes and armor and hastily slipping into them before attaching her weapons. There was only one place he could have gotten off to, and with a narrowing of her eyes, she pulled back the tent's flap and stepped outside.
The ocecat tilted her head upwards, unable to miss the strong coppery scent of blood. Already lives had been taken and she had yet to get started. 'Soon,' she thought as she detected an odd smell...one she associated with magic...and with a wrinkling of her nose, she squinted into the distance, seeing a flash that could only mean unknown mages were inside the camp. Such warfare was not practiced among her kind, and as such she had no way to defend herself against it. Ignoring the mystical threat, she lowered her head, searching out targets and drawing in on her ward instead.
"Jamon," his name spoken under her breath with a snarl as she saw the Jezibel woman that was close to him, the boy on his way to the stream. It was as she expected. She locked in on the three men that were posed to attack, their sights on the prince. Going rigid, her muscles bunched as her instinct to attack the intruders kicked in. Her wounded pride changed that directive. She overrode the signal to protect and in a sinuous movement turned in the opposite direction, running for the perimeter and searching for a new set of targets.
It didn't take her long to find her quarry. Her body low to the ground and concealed by the tall grasses, Mynx stalked two men that were circling the camp. She had picked up on their scents easily, the odor of their sour sweat familiar to her sensitive nares. She felt the ghost of their pressure upon her back, their fumbling hands against her wrists. She never should have let them walk away...should have followed them into the forest after Tris had spooked them and convinced them to drop their trousers. With a smirk, she closed in, remembering the sight of their shriveled manhoods as they scampered away like frightened deer.
She stopped their steps with a growl, pushing through the natural cover easily as she charged forward. Claws extended she swept her hand towards their ankles, feeling the soft skin split like butter under her attack. The first man dropped, clutching his legs, and she tackled the second, her elbow catching his chin. She allowed them to regain their feet, watching them intently, her teeth exposed in a threat, waiting for them to recognize her. As soon as the spark of recollection was ignited, she sprung, hitting the larger statured man carrying a club solidly in the chest. She opened his skin with tooth and nail, driving her hunter's knife deep into his chest. With a twist she extracted her blade, leaning forward as he took his last breaths. "For bruised ribs," she snarled close to his ear, leaping from him to the ground.
The remaining bandit held his sword before him, just the slightest tremor in his arms. In her current condition, the ocecat was fierce, not a predator to be trifled with. She had been caught off guard the previous day, worn out from her heavy burden and set upon by three men, one of which weighed the equivalent of her twice. The lucky strike of the club into her side had tilted the odds in their favor. Now, no such advantage existed, and the man knew he was in over his head. To his credit, he stood his ground, prepared to fight the feline to the death. His death.
Mynx was growing tired of playing with her prey and as she drew her short sword to parry with his larger one, she let out a low growl. She ducked under his first swing, cutting into his shins as she rolled from him. Her roll brought her back to her feet, her axe appearing in her other hand in a flash of movement. Before he could turn to face her, she threw it, the head burying itself into his shoulder. He didn't have a chance to fall on his own, the cat pouncing on him as soon as her weapon hit its mark. She crouched upon his back, tearing his sword from his fingers as she pulled both of his arms behind him. She wrenched them upwards, smirking at the sound of his scream. Putting his hands together, she pushed hard against them, using his own weapon to pierce his palms then drive the blade through his body into the ground beneath. His death came soon after and with a bounding leap, Mynx dove back into the grass.