Sak-Bak held his breath for a moment; along with the rest of the tribe. It was the strangest of endings to a fight; a twist worthy of a story, if not for how week and feeble it was. That this warmblood won was sensational; that she let him go was bordering on offensive. Noone acted out - she WAS the champion - but she could feel horror and hatred in there eyes. Apart from the survivor, she'd won few hearts with her sympathy... But she -had- won her title.<br/><br/>The shaman, trembling with nerves under the scrutiny of a hundred eyes all thinking he'd been outdone, stepped forward toward the girl. "I prono-!" He was cut off as Sak-Bak snarled and stepped forward. "The spirits are not yours, old man! Step down!"<br/><br/>It was here that the former jailor needed the support of his people; and he got it. Yells of agreement followed, and though it was a long way from true respect he was taking the crown from the crestfallen shaman, who sunk to one knee to let Sak-Bak claim it. He placed it on his own head; it was too large, but he wore it proudly. His eyes shot toward the warmblood and he grinned, though noone would notice the former motion save her.<div class="messageTextEndMarker"> </div>