It did seem to fit.

Closing his eyes the instant Miranda's fingers touched the back of his head, he submitted to her as she scratched him behind the ears. "I'm almost finished with this," she told him, taking her hand away. He looked up at it, and saw that it was a rather pretty embroidered representation of a shaeram, done on the breast of one of Keritanima's silk dresses. Miranda's work was exacting, precise, and very elegant, much as the mink Wikuni's personality tended to be. Miranda was a perfectionist, he'd learned, and she was good enough never to be too far off that lofty mark. "I guess I have enough time to put some roses on the cuffs. Binter, how far are we from Dayise?" she called.

"By this speed, we should make it in three days, Lady Miranda," he replied calmly, even as he used his heavy tail to bludgeon Azakar to the deck. Binter and Sisska manhandled the oversized human youth in ways that Faalken never could, but it was good for him. A good student was one that could be overmatched by his instructor. That gave the student the respect he needed to accept training from the instructor, because an instructor that could be defeated by his student wouldn't be taken seriously by the student once he realized that. "Keep your guard up, Azakar," Binter chided. "Expect attack from any direction."

"I'm still not used to the tail," he complained.

"Then adjust," Sisska told him in a voice remarkably similar to her lifemate's. "There is no room for error in battle, young one. There is life and death, and death brings little honor."

"And never underestimate the opponent," Binter told him again. That was something that Binter preached. "Treat any foe as if it were capable of killing you, because it can. Give honor to your foe, as is only proper for one willing to gamble its life against yours."

"I already learned that lesson," Azakar grunted, and Faalken laughed.

"That he did. Tarrin almost broke him over his knee," the Knight laughed.

"Now, guard stance," Sisska ordered, taking her lifemate's place as Azakar's opponent.

Tarrin watched Sisska maul Azakar for several moments, giving the young man a very pointed reminder that, though he was competent and well trained, he was still just a baby compared to grizzled veterans like Sisska, Binter, and Faalken. But that was only entertaining for so long. He felt the sudden urge to see if he could find that last rat that had managed to elude him down in the hold, so he jumped down from Miranda's lap and padded across the deck, heading for the stairs going below. He passed in front of the seated, chained Wikuni without fear, ignoring their looks of fear and hate.

But he had gotten just a little bit too close. He glanced one of the Wikuni suddenly drop down, and then something hit him in the back. He felt his back snap as something crushed him into the deck, and only air and blood escaped from his mouth as he was crushed under a great weight. But the attacking object was neither silver nor magical, and his body mended itself almost as quickly as it had been injured. Blind rage flew into his mind in a fleeting instant, and he quickly shapeshifted back into his humanoid form. That move incited several gasps and cries of shock from the Wikuni, who had never seen him do that and probably hadn't realized that the witch-cat and the cat-like man were the same being. But his attention, and his sudden anger, was directed at the large hyena Wikuni that had brought the heel of his boot down on his back, trying to kill him. That Wikuni's eyes were bulging in confusion and fear, which turned to horror when Tarrin grabbed that foot by the ankle before he could draw it away.

Tarrin's method of punishment was as final as it was direct. Holding the Wikuni by the ankle, he dragged the hyena, who was now shrieking in terror, close enough to grab him. Claws plunged into the Wikuni's chest, tearing a scream of agony from the hyena, which escalated into a ragged shriek when Tarrin's claws hooked into him and picked him up off the deck. With that bloody hold on the body, the Were-cat reared back with a clenched fist and punched the Wikuni dead in the mouth, with enough force to snap the head back unnaturally far to the accompanying sound of breaking bone, and make the entire body shudder. The impact was enough to rip his claws from the chest as the body recoiled from the power of the blow, pulling out a section of rib with it as the dead Wikuni dropped to the deck. Tarrin relaxed his claws, dropping the length of pink bone absently, and glared at the remaining Wikuni with death burning in his eyes.

"Tarrin, no," Miranda said in a sharp voice. She was standing, the dress folded over her arm, showing no fear of the situation. Tarrin's blood boiled, the Cat raging up from the corner of his mind in a fury, and his every instinct told him to kill these dangerous enemies before they did something else to mess things up, but the calm command in Miranda's voice took hold of him at that same level that caused him to be so infatuated with her. He found himself stepping back from them almost unwillingly, eyes locked on Miranda, who showed no fear and did not blink when she stared him down. "I think the survivors will be much more, tractable, now. No doubt they'll prefer the hangman's rope over having you be the last thing they see."

"By the Scar, Tarrin, do you always have to be so messy?" Faalken asked disapprovingly, looking at the wide pool of blood forming around the body of the Wikuni that attacked him.

"Be a dear, Tarrin, and dispose of that," she said, pointing at the corpse.

Without changing his stony expression, Tarrin picked up the body, by the free-moving head, carried to the rail, and then threw it over the side and sent it into the deep. He had no idea why he was obeying Miranda, but he was. Much as he had once felt about Azakar, a subtle intimidation present in her eyes that was sufficient enough to force him to obey. Almost as an afterthought, he picked up the rib and tossed it over the side

"Now, it's your choice, honored guests," Miranda told the Wikuni bluntly. "You can behave and live to see Dayise, or Tarrin will kill you one by one. It's your choice."

"Here now, what foolishness is this?" Kern demanded as he scurried from the stern. "Did ye just kill a prisoner, Tarrin?"

"He was attacked first, Master Kern," Miranda said calmly. "If he was a normal cat, it would have killed him. I heard his back break."

"Aye, Captain," Faalken agreed. "I saw it myself. The dearly departed smashed Tarrin to the deck with his foot as he walked past. He got what was coming to him."

Kern gave Tarrin a wary eye, then he nodded. "Alright then. Just be more careful, lad. No need to tempt them into such things. Just keep a good distance from them."

Tarrin leveled a flat glare at Kern and growled at him, which made Kern take a quick step back. "N-Now see here, lad, on my ship you obey my orders. I tell you now to keep your distance from the prisoners."

Still baring his fangs, Tarrin weighed the threat in that challenge. Kern was respected, and Tarrin would feel bad if he killed him. It wasn't seemly to kill respected individuals, unless there was a really good reason. Kern was right that his authority on the ship was absolute, and Tarrin had to respect that authority. It was only seemly to obey the laws of someone else's den. Lowering his lips, hiding those long, white fangs, Tarrin only nodded with a grim expression, then turned his back on the prisoners, shifted into cat form, and padded over to the bulwark and laid down in a rope coil not far away.

If anything, that one act had utterly silenced the Wikuni. They no longer whispered among themselves, and almost every eye was pinned to where Tarrin lay, seemingly asleep.

"Mind ye, if a one of ye gives him another reason to kill, I won't stand in his way," Kern warned them. "Ye can hang from a yardarm in Dayise, or ye can get your sorry carcasses tossed over the side. As lady Miranda said to ye, it be your choice."