Still a silly girl; it hadn't occurred to her that although the smoke may hide her, it would also conceal anyone else. The War Captain bowls her over easily-- far Ashtar's senior and five inches superior. There are, however, facets to her advantage. A Tactician's training, for instance.
   The Boshin rolls-- once, twice-- until she has a small range of space to evaluate the threat. She stays crouched, belly to the ground, body lengthwise while she watches the Saboran approach, tail thumping the ground in erratic anxiety. Ashtaroth's first thought is an irrelevant but true-to-form, pretty, followed by a note on deeply saturated colours, an unfortunately thick neck, and finally: the scars on her right, the closest thing to weakness she's likely to find.
   As soon as the opportunity is identified, feigned-fearful eyes narrow the instant she lunges past Zanna's right side, snapping at the foreleg in hopes of dragging it under her, pulling old wounds in over-extension. Here's hoping you stretched. No matter how her attempt turns out, she darts by the larger woman, back into the blaze.
   Trained by Tacticians, oh yes, but the Jin taught her it's best if they never know where you're coming from.