Back to a reasonable length at last 
A quick one, in both time taken to read and time taken to write. So, there's probably mistakes. Please, point them out! And as for you Yoshi fans (I can think of two offhand 
), I'd appreciate criticism of the voice here. Trying to develop it a little from the previous Yoshi part, but it seems to be drifting into Irenicus 
Story recap thread below, again
Kaleidoscopes 17: Three Weeks
Until the lions have their historians, tales of the hunt shall always glorify the hunter.
- Proverb
It has been three weeks now. Three weeks since she escaped the dungeon, and roughly the same since my own unfortunate end. Almost two since I was charged with her recapture. And still my contract remains unfulfilled.
Perhaps I am losing my touch, neh?
Three weeks of bloodshed and despair on both sides. I have never been so slow to act before. Methodical, perhaps - one should never rush to capture a quarry. One must always understand the target, and learn the patterns they trace, even if time is an absent luxury. This is the respect between hunter and prey. Without it, the art is lost – and in his carelessness, the hunter becomes the hunted.
But three weeks?
She still walks...or stumbles...free through the city, and over time her steps have grown stronger, supported on the shoulders of her kinder comrades. Any delay is unwise, not to mention perilous. I know this. So why has my resolve turned to ice in my stomach?
I missed my chance again last night. I had to kill the Harper assassin, of course, and truly my action should have come sooner. If not for the Avariel, Kizrin would be lying dead in the street. Irenicus had me join with her to prevent such unpleasant incidents - his precious subject would have been of little use to him as a corpse. I suspect Bodhi would be similarly unimpressed, were I to return with a small pile of ashes to act as her salvation.
I do not know what she would do to me, if Kizrin were to fall before ever reaching her.
The assassin posed no further threat, of course, but it would have been unwise to let her live. Puppetmasters are rarely grateful to their pawns - I of all people know this to be true – and my task would become considerably harder if the full force of the Harpers were to come down on my target's head. The woman's death bought me some time, if nothing else. For now, I can only hope Kizrin does not try to escape from the city. Travel would prove impractical, and without my presence she would no doubt get herself killed in some other meaningless fashion...or find another bar to waste a ten-day in.
I know her patterns. I have played her shadow for two weeks, after all. I know her better than any of the foolish moths she collects, than either her would-be guardian or her cold-hearted lover. I watched her house of cards collapse in the night, and watched her drown her sorrows in the morning. Such knowledge offers proof of my skills. Such knowledge is the tool of this trade.
Except I cannot make the final strike. Ah...the famous Yoshimo, unable to capture a quarry? I suspect death has not been kind to me.
Yet in truth, my reputation was not so great. I only adopted the guise of the well-travelled bounty hunter on arriving in Athkatla. Life is easier as a stereotype, and it served as camouflage for my true purpose. The smiling, carefree bounty hunter from the east...or the man who sought revenge and found a vipers' nest.
My mask served me equally well in the dungeon. It satisfied the curious druid, the only one likely to see through the façade. The ranger was...slow, shall we say...and Kizrin and her friend saw nothing. Muyuubyousha, I named them. Sleepwalkers.
I felt sorry for them then. Perhaps I still do. I have watched the actor break the blade...and I can only imagine what Irenicus has done to Imoen.
Still, all this is in the past. The party fractured, leaving me to pay the price of failure - and I will pay again, if I do not act soon. Bodhi has already planned for my failure, but I have no desire to be sidelined again. Perhaps with success, I can win her back. If not, there are other benefits, and other solutions.
It is strange for a kariudo to be quite so dependent on his target. Strange, and also dangerous. So far this quarry has brought me only ruin, and in my heart I expect little change in the future. But nonetheless, I will continue this dance. I will keep her alive for her death at Bodhi's hands, because I have no other choice – or none that I can contemplate at present.
She suspects by now. She must do. Many times I think she has seen me, but then she turns away, as if blind. I know the ranger senses something, though his keen instincts are blunted by the haze of this unfortunate city. But the assassin's body...
I should not have fed on her. It was not only foolish, but shameful. Bodhi can call herself hunter, and sing of the bond between vampire and prey - but ultimately she is little more than an animal. As am I. There is no honour in this hunt...no honour at all, despite all her attempts to pretend otherwise. I have fought the urge for days now, but the attacks are becoming more frequent, and this time it cost me dearly. The arrows were a poor distraction – though Kizrin is a fool at many times, her wits are occasionally as sharp as her blades. I should not have underestimated her. For all my talk of respect, I am becoming careless. No, I suspect I became careless a long time ago.
But even if I do fail, the outcome will be unchanged. Bodhi will find Kizrin with or without my help. All I can do is try, and hope that she does not discard me as her brother did - but I fear he taught her well. Still, I will at least be there to see her decide my fate. A fitting end. She orchestrated every step I took at the end of my life, and my death will be no different.
The clock is ticking, then, for both the hunter and his prey. Perhaps I will deliver the quarry first, or perhaps Bodhi's other plans will ripen before I even bring myself to act. Kizrin, meanwhile, must steal what time she can. Her fate is certain - only the details are undecided.
So let her suspect me as she wishes, or waste her days on apathy. Our paths will cross again. This tale may be played out on borrowed time, and on dictated terms...but in the end, no-one save the puppets has the knowledge needed to write the script.
