The lady appears ignorant of imminent impalement as the brand glides its fang for the delicate curve of her spine; its hunger must continue when they evade thru a timely twirl tied to riposte. A jagged arc of crepitating light and heat bolts through the air before crashing into the beckoner's barrier with bright, refracting resplendence. The [i]Fateful Death[/i] tails and vanishes into the glittery glow; it dims and dies to reveal an upright, unharmed and confident Hisame holding the katana acute to her left leg. At a glance there is no effect to her protection but discernment of the spiritual will notice the tiniest of cracks in the ethereal weave.

She stands in silent, smiling scrutiny amid the rhythmic deluge. Their toy has vanished from vision and presumably gone for a swim in the sea of trees. Taking three hip-swerving steps forward as she scans left-to-right for signs of the missing maiden, the cold of the wet earth stinging her feet, she stops when nothing is found; then a rightward cant of her neck and a backward tilt of her head allows a gazing at the flickering, thundering heavens thru a streaming pane of shielding. Hisame inhales deeply, tasting the wet air while song fills her voice. 

“[i]Oh, whe-ere; Oh, whe-ere has my lit-tle bitch gone... Oh whe-ere; oh, whe-ere can she be-e-e?[/i]”