This isn’t something Cassandra’s accustomed to, having someone come to her aid. She’d started to get a little more... used to it in Rome, because there had been people there who did. Would, should she need it. Need them. She doesn’t expect it here. Much as she doesn’t expect it in Whitestone. (Doesn’t deserve it in Whitestone.)

But someone does, anyway.

The creature chasing her yowls as her rescuer lets something fly towards it, as he yells, catching its attention and drawing its ire and she could leave, she could keep running to safety... but she can’t. She can’t leave someone like that. Not ever. She’s been the one left. She will never do that to anyone as long as there’s breath in her lungs.

So as the cat roars and comes to a halt, torn between its prey and the one who hurt it, she turns sharply on her heels and starts towards the stranger instead of the safety of the trees.