And then there was another strange figure in the village. A young man in foreign armour.
“Master!”
“Kawara – why did you run ahead like that?”
“After what we found it that last village, you started getting all brooding and grim. Nobody wants you to go all dark avenger of the night and start calling yourself Crimson . . Cougar or something and killing people. So either I could deal with it before you did or you'd get distracted following me and stop obsessing.”
Yet more outlandishly dressed women joined them. Chatting as they looked around the village. “Can't argue with Kawara logic, eh, Blue Thunder?”
“And it's OK for you to kill?”
“A bunch of bandit villains attack me and I beat them up. I . . can deal. Master would get all broody.”
“Hey banners! One for our half-ogre and another for . . . Gryffindor? Any sign of his partner?”
“Maybe it's the little assassin hiding in the bushes?”
Arya suddenly realised she couldn't move. Brambles had somehow knotted around her. She struggled, but a hand grabbed her by the scruff of her neck. Her sight was obscured by green dyed hair as another of the monster-women dragged her, trussed in brambles, into the village.
Fear cuts deeper than swords. I will not shame . . . .
The teenaged girl that had felled the mountain squatted down in front of her and grinned. “So, red and gold and the name's Stark. Are we dealing with evil iron-girl here?”
What?
“Master!”
“Kawara – why did you run ahead like that?”
“After what we found it that last village, you started getting all brooding and grim. Nobody wants you to go all dark avenger of the night and start calling yourself Crimson . . Cougar or something and killing people. So either I could deal with it before you did or you'd get distracted following me and stop obsessing.”
Yet more outlandishly dressed women joined them. Chatting as they looked around the village. “Can't argue with Kawara logic, eh, Blue Thunder?”
“And it's OK for you to kill?”
“A bunch of bandit villains attack me and I beat them up. I . . can deal. Master would get all broody.”
“Hey banners! One for our half-ogre and another for . . . Gryffindor? Any sign of his partner?”
“Maybe it's the little assassin hiding in the bushes?”
Arya suddenly realised she couldn't move. Brambles had somehow knotted around her. She struggled, but a hand grabbed her by the scruff of her neck. Her sight was obscured by green dyed hair as another of the monster-women dragged her, trussed in brambles, into the village.
Fear cuts deeper than swords. I will not shame . . . .
The teenaged girl that had felled the mountain squatted down in front of her and grinned. “So, red and gold and the name's Stark. Are we dealing with evil iron-girl here?”
What?