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Description
He supposed he was lucky, able to actually keep his life as well as the clothes on his back and a dagger, but it was a hollow victory to be shunned rather than hanged. Angrily, he kicked a small rock down the hill, though he ended slipping in the mud himself and sliding down the wet embankment after it. Swearing under his breath, he stood up and brushed off the worst of the grime, finding himself standing near a raging river. The noise was deafening as it crashed across the occasional rock or partially submerged wood in its path, bubbling and frothing as it did so. Movement from the shadows off to one side caught his attention; he froze for a moment before stepping behind a bush and reaching for his weapon. Damn it, he didn’t need more trouble tonight.

A figure stepped forth through the brush, cautious, perhaps wary, as he entered the clearing by the river. The beige cotton pants were frayed at the cuffs, leather boots were heavily scuffed and covered with dirt, a worn shirt of green linen could be glimpsed beneath the faded cloak whose hood covered the stranger’s face – the clothes of a farmer. No weapon could be seen, but that didn’t mean that there wasn’t one. He knelt at the edge of the water, not seeming to mind the wet ground that surely was soaking into his pants as he dipped a cupped hand into the river for a drink.

Now was the time to strike, before the stranger knew he was there. The mage crept over to the stranger whose back was to him, the sound of his footsteps hidden by the rushing water. He grabbed the stranger roughly, putting one arm around his chest to pin him while he placed his dagger against his throat. However, he was startled to find that the chest was not flat as expected. Startled, his grip automatically loosened and the stranger managed to elbow him beneath the ribs before forcing herself – for it had to be a woman – from the mage’s hold. Quickly, the mage grabbed her by the arm and pulled her close to face him, pushing back her hood with the hilt of his blade.

A pair of green eyes framed by long lashes glared at him, meeting his eyes as if in a challenge. A few strands of brown hair had pulled loose from the braid that was tucked into her hood. Her skin was almost as dark as his, her build wiry though she was around a foot shorter than he. She had high cheekbones, full mouth, and what appeared to be a stubborn streak as wide as a country mile.

“Let me go,” she growled dangerously, trying to pull away.

“What are you doing here?” he demanded coldly. He didn’t need someone else to know he was out here; it was bad enough that the whole royal court would know by now.

“What business is it of yours? Besides, I could ask you the same thing,” she retorted.

Description
He supposed he was lucky, able to actually keep his life as well as the clothes on his back and a dagger, but it was a hollow victory to be shunned rather than hanged. Angrily, he kicked a small rock down the hill, though he ended slipping in the mud himself and sliding down the wet embankment after it. Swearing under his breath, he stood up and brushed off the worst of the grime, finding himself standing near a raging river. The noise was deafening as it crashed across the occasional rock or partially submerged wood in its path, bubbling and frothing as it did so. Movement from the shadows off to one side caught his attention; he froze for a moment before stepping behind a bush and reaching for his weapon. Damn it, he didn’t need more trouble tonight.

A figure stepped forth through the brush, cautious, perhaps wary, as he entered the clearing by the river. The beige cotton pants were frayed at the cuffs, leather boots were heavily scuffed and covered with dirt, a worn shirt of green linen could be glimpsed beneath the faded cloak whose hood covered the stranger’s face – the clothes of a farmer. No weapon could be seen, but that didn’t mean that there wasn’t one. He knelt at the edge of the water, not seeming to mind the wet ground that surely was soaking into his pants as he dipped a cupped hand into the river for a drink.

Now was the time to strike, before the stranger knew he was there. The mage crept over to the stranger whose back was to him, the sound of his footsteps hidden by the rushing water. He grabbed the stranger roughly, putting one arm around his chest to pin him while he placed his dagger against his throat. However, he was startled to find that the chest was not flat as expected. Startled, his grip automatically loosened and the stranger managed to elbow him beneath the ribs before forcing herself – for it had to be a woman – from the mage’s hold. Quickly, the mage grabbed her by the arm and pulled her close to face him, pushing back her hood with the hilt of his blade.

A pair of green eyes framed by long lashes glared at him, meeting his eyes as if in a challenge. A few strands of brown hair had pulled loose from the braid that was tucked into her hood. Her skin was almost as dark as his, her build wiry though she was around a foot shorter than he. She had high cheekbones, full mouth, and what appeared to be a stubborn streak as wide as a country mile.

“Let me go,” she growled dangerously, trying to pull away.

“What are you doing here?” he demanded coldly. He didn’t need someone else to know he was out here; it was bad enough that the whole royal court would know by now.

“What business is it of yours? Besides, I could ask you the same thing,” she retorted.