The stories never talk about this, you know? 

Or, you know, they [i]do[/i], but they never actually get across get across just how much solid projectile weapons [i]suck.[/i] Never go into the blinding, the choking, 

Otherwise, wow, right? Topless, with your own clone, in a pit which in ideal circumstances would be full of mud? Exactly the kind of situation that would make you consider how pro-clone-fucking exactly you are if you weren't, for instance, flat on your face and glad that the arena [i]isn't[/i][ full of mud?

Missed trick there, Tilly, very sloppy.

Growling. At least two. Four? Hard to tell with the tears choking her eyes, the smoke choking her lungs. Stripes through the fog, which shouldn't blend in but also mean she can't accurately latch onto a shape?

She locks eyes with her ghost-clone, communication through expression and flicked eyes. Or, you know, tries, inasmuch as both are pretty much face-down in the not-mud, exhausted. There are benefits to self-knowledge, you know? No need to talk to each other, because if she's thinking it, then she's [i]also[/i] thinking it. 

Either one of them would be toast right now on their own. Weak, tired, choked, easy prey. But two together can support each other--back to back, as much to cover blindspots as it is to hold each other up, occasionally wobbling as one or the other lashes out with a tail against an encroaching set of teeth and claw.

See that, Tilly? See how stupid your sword is? See what trust does? Eat shit.

And maybe one of the two of her will figure out a lasting solution in time to keep them from being eaten by tigers.