OOC: Im not looking for other participants right now, but if you truly beleive you have an idea thats teh awesome, let me know and we'll talk.

Sharp eyes swept the Great North Road, narrowing at the approaching wagon and its small accompaniment of Seanchan soldiers. They had increased the guard for each of their shipments, since Jahon and his small band had begun harassing their supply lines. Although only forty men strong, they had several things in their favor, namely, mobility and unpredictability. A wagon appeared on the horizon, proudly sporting the Seanchan standard. Turning to his second in command, he issued a monotone order.

"One wagon. Twenty men. Make ready." He relayed the order, Jahon's men quickly hiding among the trees, stringing their bows, tightening their armor, and the myriad of other things that happen amid the tension before a battle. He sniffed the air, noting the distinct tinge of fear. There was no avoiding it before a fight, but it was their stoic resolve that made him swell with pride. He could sense it far more clearly then he could smell.

The Great North Road, and the Illian Road, were the Seanchan's primary supply lines to the front. The woods in between were an excellent place for a small group of resistance fighters to hide and wreak havoc upon the war effort. In the back of his mind, Jahon knew that it was only a matter of time before the Seanchan deemed them a big enough threat to bring down the might of the Seanchan Empire on them, but these days, precious few people were not standing on the precipice of death. The Last Battle approaches.

The Wagon, likely filled to the brim with useful supplies, lumbered steadily forward. Jahon Peeked around the tree, watching it approach, and catching Three-trees glinting golden eyes. Brother, I do not smell fear on them. Something is wrong. Jahon grimaced at that cautious warning, but they still had the element of surprise. His eyes narrowed on the wagon, two columns of foot marching steadily at its head. The slight creak of the straining bow reached his sharp ears as he stared down the shaft of an arrow. His shot was always the first, thats how it was decided. Now was the time when he could choose to heed Three-trees warning. But they had the Seanchan outnumbered. He let out a ferel growl as he loosed the shaft, seeing it thud firmly into an officers breastplate. The whisper of twenty released arrows rushed past his ears, followed by the agonized cries of fallen enemies.

Jahon drew his sword, looking about at his comrades. "Charge! Finish them!" Men rushed from both sides of the road, catching the remaining Seanchan in a bloody vice. One of the remaining soldiers swung a wild overhand blow, clashing noisily with his own blade as he countered with a vicious punch to the gut. He doubled over in pain, gurgling as the knife in Jahon's offhand drew a jagged red line across his throat. He snarled and circled, looking for the few remaining stragglers. Something was wrong. Anger flashed, hot and violent, through his mind. His men were dropping their arms. "What are you doing?" He shouted at the top of his lungs.

He felt his arms being dragged behind him, and unseen force pushing him to his knees as he struggled with his invisible restraints. It was times like these when the line between wolf and man became harder to honor. He felt animal instinct begin to take his body over, yellow eyes wild and savage as he gazed upon the group of Damane standing before the wagon, satisfied smiles upon their Sul'Dams features. One of them waved her hand in a dismissive gesture, cooly sentencing all of Jahon's men to their deaths. Jahon howled, in pain and anger, as their blood soaked into the dusty road, able only to watch them die, blind to the weaves that cut them down without mercy.

Desperation flooded into his mind, each breath labored with the weight of forty deaths as a nameless soldier dragged him to the Sul'dam's feet. Jahon said nothing, staring dejectedly at the ground. One of them spoke, her soft voice almost deceiving the ear regarding the power of her station. "Lieutenant. Bring the poor little dog we found, and show it to our guest." Daring not to look up, Jahon only bit his lip, panic threatening to overtake his precarious hold on humanity. When they dropped Three-tree's body in front of him, he did not try to hold back the howl of anguish, the kind only possible with the death of a dear friend. His only friend.

They slipped a bag over his head, and dragged him to the wagon. Despair pulsed through his veins, and for a moment the Creator left him. He would never share a meal with Three-trees again.