Catch could not remember what had happened. He watched, too fascinated by Andre's garbled, yet lyrical tongue, his eyes wavering as the man picked up the nearest semi-weapon and made his desperate lunge. To Andre, perhaps, things would be more clear. Catch's eyes snapped, becoming sharper, far too sane. He dared! he dared endanger the little Rhin-Star! Catch did not bellow, did not hiss, as he lost himself. There was little noise at all as the faint, silver slithering under his skin burst away from their bondings, semi-liquid tendrils that whipped at Andre, across his face, his chest, his arms, with a force far more terrible than the smoke they resembled. Catch instinctively turned himself, sheltering Rhin from the sight, though his bones thrummed in a song that she could surely feel.
And he ran, quickly, his strides leaping and confident. His mind would not clear until he was away from that terrible place, with the greatest pearl, the most wonderful treasure, held carefully in his arms. The whipped, snaking smoke would see to that, if Andre recovered in time.