She broke into a run, nudging her way in and out of the crowd to the disdain of many a folk who were carrying their goods to market; a crate of apples tumbled to the ground as she inadvertently kicked a man in the shins; half-turning to shout a quick apology she collided with a woman carrying a basket on her shoulder and the oats within spilled in a wave of white over the two of them.
Rill winced, but didn’t have the time to stop and help. She ran on, found a clear stretch and tried to break into a sprint but the fronts of her sandals caught on the raised cobbles and sent her flying. She staggered to catch her balance and stopped just long enough to shrug out of the footwear. That was better – she hoicked up the edge of her skirt and set off with renewed vigour towards the docks.
“Ye sodding whore!” The man’s voice carried over the crowd behind her. She glanced quickly over her shoulder and saw his head bobbing above the others, his wide shoulders forcing people out of the way like a parting sea. He looked angry. Well, she didn’t doubt that he WAS angry – the engraved silver dagger at her hip and fifteen sharpened and polished silver darts strapped to her leg were testament to the fact that he had something to be angry about. But hells, he’d taken enough from her to warrant the theft of some small replaceable goods, hadn’t he? How much was dignity worth? More than a glorified knife and a handful of metal shards? Certainly.
WelshPixie
Kuri'thas