He slowed and stopped, lowering the sword. Of course. Jegojah was no enemy to take lightly. His skills were exceptional, and in a fair fight with no magic, the winner would be who was luckier. But Jegojah was a sentient being, with thoughts and feelings. And there was more than one way to fight. Intimidation, blackmail, flustering, they were all psychological forms of fighting, a way to get an advantage. Jegojah was very good at intimidating his enemies to give himself an edge, but perhaps that could work the other way as well. He already knew how to even the playing field, how to strip Jegojah of his ability to draw energy from the land. Maybe a little extra would frighten the Doomwalker and give Tarrin an advantage.

Tarrin hated Jegojah with every fiber of his being, but he wasn't stupid enough not to respect the Doomwalker's abilities. He'd take every advantage he could get.

And so he continued. The sword felt a little strange in his paws, not like how his staff felt natural, but he was very good with it. His mother and Allia both had taught him the sword, and he could wield one with as much skill as either of them. This sword was a bit different, for it was one of the rare few he had held that seemed to fit into his paws. Months of practice and combat had given him an affinity for the weapon, but he still missed his staff. The blade cut the air, whistling as it moved as he flowed through several routines of attack and defense, routines that incorporated punches, kicks, claw swipes, and even tail lashes into them to take advantage of his natural weaponry. The sword, which wasn't much shorter than Denai, was perfect for his height, as if it had been made for him. The single-edged weapon, its black metal shimmering in the waning sun, sliced through imaginary foes again and again, as Tarrin snaked and weaved and evaded phantom attacks. He became caught up in the soothing rythym of the Dance, allowing it to take over his mind for a time, becoming nothing and everything, where there was no thought, no fear, no worry, only him and his sword and his opponent, moving together in a seamless symmetry of poetic motion.

But it still wasn't good enough. The sword just didn't feel like a part of him, and he couldn't afford to give anything away when he faced Jegojah. He needed his staff back, it was just that simple. But Shiika had destroyed his staff, and the Ironwood from which he had cut it was an exceeding rare wood, something he'd never find around here. No other other wood would do. He was too hard on his weapon for it to break easily, because of his inhuman strength. Without Ironwood, he was without a staff-

He was without his staff. When Tarrin cut the Ironwood, he had made two staves. He cut and made them when he was thirteen, when he knew he wasn't at his full height yet. So he'd made the first for his height at that time, and made the second one very long, to be cut to the proper height when he was fully grown. He'd used that first staff for about a year and a half, then he'd given it to Jenna when he outgrew it. Jenna still had it, even though it did little more than collect dust in a corner of her room.

He could conceivably get it. He knew how to Conjure and Summon, but this was a little different. For one, the staff wasn't his anymore, and it had been a very long time since he'd held it. That would make Summoning the staff very difficult. It belonged to Jenna, and that would also make it much harder. But Jenna was his sister, so he hoped that would make it a little easier than if he'd given it to a complete strangers.

He wasn't about to give up because of that. He needed a staff, he needed an Ironwood staff, and that one was the only one he knew. He was going to try to Summon it, no matter what.

Blowing out his breath, he closed his eyes and reached within, through the Cat, reaching into the All. the intent in his mind was clear, but the image inside him was a bit fuzzy. He knew what he was trying to do, but he was uncertain as to where the staff was, so his image basicly boiled down to summoning the staff he had given to Jenna. He just hoped the All would construe his wishes through intent rather than image. He closed his paw as he felt the Druidic magic flow through him, a considerable amount that left him physically weakened for a moment.

But his paw closed around wood.

It had worked! Tarrin held up the staff in his paw quickly, but he could hardly call it a staff. It was a staff sized for a human child, so to him, it looked like a twig. But there was no denying that it was indeed the Ironwood staff. He had shaped it himself, and even after five years, its every scratch, bur, swirl, and contour were still in his memory. It was dry and dusty, but he could sense the wood through his paw, sense that it was still alive, even after five years of neglect.

Good old Ironwood. Virtually indestructible.

Since it was alive, that meant that he could affect it. Despite being a little tired from the summoning, Tarrin reached within once more. This time, his image and intent were perfectly clear, and the All responded. The drain on him was noticable, but nothing like what he felt when he summoned the staff. The magic infused the staff, revitalizing the wood, bringing it back to full vigor, and the magic urged the wood to grow. The staff lengthened and thickened visibly, growing swiftly in his paw, until it had fleshed out to the exact dimensions he had envisioned. A good staff should be slightly taller than its owner, and thick enough to be easy to grip, but no thicker than necessary.

What Tarrin got when he was done was a staff that was an almost perfect replica of his old one, sized perfectly to his tall frame. It resembled his old staff, even down to the scratches on it; Tarrin realized that he must have been imagining his old staff when he used the spell to make the staff grow, and the All had taken that image and made it a blueprint rather than a guide. The new staff was proportioned for his new height, and it was a bit heavier, but other than that, it looked and felt exactly like his old one. The weight was no issue, since he himself was now stronger than he had been before, thanks to Shiika. Just looking at the staff made Tarrin smile just a little bit, and he felt as if some long lost friend had reappeared in his life.

He put the staff into the middle grip and felt its balance. It was perfect. The All had done more than just change the staff according to his image, it had changed it according to his desires. It had made him the perfect staff, the perfect weapon, and already, before he even swung it once, it felt like an extension of his arms. It felt like a part of him. And that was the key element that was lacking when he used the sword. He was aware of the sword, thought of the sword, took account of the sword. He didn't do that when using his staff. He didn't have to. He could fight with his staff in a state of total unthinking oblivion, working on reflex and training alone, and that gave him a reaction so fast that few could keep up with him, even when he was a human.

The sword. It was still on his back. But he wouldn't throw it away. Carrying it these months had taught him that each weapon had certain uses, and had advantages in some situations. He would keep and use them both. The sword would be used, but only when it had a greater advantage than his staff. Fighting kajats was a good example. His staff would probably just bounce off the scaly hide of one of those formidable reptiles.

"Well now," Sarraya said, "I wondered when you'd think to try that."

Tarrin shook off the reverie and looked towards the voice. Sarraya was hovering in the air not far from the single tree, a berry of some sort in her hand. "Conjured or Created?"

"Summoned," he replied. "I totally forgot about this one. I made it when I was younger and gave it to my sister. It's been sitting in her room for the last five years. I hope she doesn't mind if I take it back."