Işık pushes against the cold, hard earth to follow the mare as she darts to one side and collides painfully with the oncoming force that is Fell himself. His breath is knocked clean out of his lungs and he gasps, scrabbling to maintain his balance, feeling the furious clamp of teeth skate over his crest and grab hold. There's as much mane as flesh between Fell's jaws but that doesn't make the shaking any less bruising, or humiliating, as the 'Teke falls to one knee.

The mare leaping into the fray floods him with a burst of adrenaline and he throws his head up, bucking free of Fell's fury and lunging out of reach of the stallion seemingly so determined to scalp him. The arch of his neck aches and he jogs further away from the pair of horses, tossing his head as if that will ease the throb. No doubt his sparse mane is now even sparser. Işık keeps a wary eye behind him as he lopes inland— not toward the rest of Fell's herd, no, but aiming for the nearest border within Tinuvel that will take him out of the black stallion's retaliatory reach. It is disappointing that he was not quick enough to drive the painted mare out of sight, to return to the Hills with that little gift for Marceline, but he is determined not to return to Salem empty handed.

Işık leans into a swift, loping stride to take himself out of sight of the Bay, in search of more complacent prey.