Warm amber rays dapple the coat of a reclining but agitated Tiger. An emerald-legged fly slowly buzzes down to land near an ear. The ear twitches, the Tiger snarls and shakes its head sending the fly buzzing away. Birds cross in the air, small creatures scurry in the brush, something swims in the nearby lake, but the Tiger’s eyes never leave its Enemy.
Neither the Enemy nor the Tiger are willing to make the first move. The Tiger’s ears twitch, and pin flat back against it’s skull. The Enemy shifts, sinuous, changing sides. The Tiger barely blinks, and the Enemy flicks away to their other flank. The Tiger leaps back, spinning, and snarling, then freezing.
The Enemy seems to have lost the Tiger, it twists anxiously. The Tiger sits, and takes a moment, it pants, scenting the wind and looking about. The Sun blazes down on a lake, quite large, with a multitude of streams feeding it creating a mix of forest, marsh, and meadow all about. The beach is sandy, and the Tiger knows the water is warm – his friend the Curious Captain is still disporting themselves in the water. Not far from the shore is a small causewayed island, on it stands a stately tomb.
Suddenly the Tiger tenses, as does the Enemy. They sight one another. This rivalry has existed since the dawn of . . . well, since as long as the Tiger or their Enemy can remember. The Tiger’s paw, like lightning, flashes out. The Enemy is too quick and the Tiger misses by the tiniest bit. The Tiger snarls, the Enemy tenses and readies for the Tigers next attack.
Birds burst forth and scatter as the tiger roars and attacks. Spinning madly the pair of combatants send sand spraying. Neither prevailing before exhaustion fells both, they each collapse, the Tiger panting heavily.
"It’s your tail," the Captain says ironically as they rise up from the waves. The Tiger snorts.
Water drips down the Captain’s chest to rejoin the lake, he steps forth onto the sand. His hair is still white, and short – barring a zailor’s forelock. Sun-burnished skin covers him just down to his rib-cage, below which the skin is snow-white, an odd white patch of skin also surrounds his eyes – like a bandit’s mask, or a shadow of a forearm. His frame is lean with whipcord muscles well suited to long-distance running or swimming, a classic balance beloved of the ancient Greeks. A scar at his shoulder remains from the battle against the Trees, there are others as well from older battles. In his eyes cosmogone flecks gleam, reflecting the Sun above.
Across the water, at the tomb, a figure rises, and stretches out long limbs. They begin to clap as the Captain first emerges from the water, "Aren’t we just the veritable Adonis," the Ophidian Gentleman comments. He briefly glances down as the Captain steps up from the waves, tongue caressing lower lip, "and . . . more as well I see." He looks back up at the Captain’s face. "I have been sent to speak with you again.
The Captain snarls wordlessly, teeth baring as lips peel back. Suddenly, sword-cane in hand, he leaps toward the causeway almost twenty yards away. Distance halves, then halves again, and again, as dreams ripple out changes. The Captain lands on the island with nothing more than Salt gave him, save blade in hand. The Tiger leaps into the water, swimming towards the island.
Alarmed the Gentleman barely draws a curved sword in time to parry.