A rare, cool shower had sent the inhabitants of Pearl Lane scurrying for their rat-holes and ramshackle shelters late that eve, as an armoured and hooded figured made her way with an unhurried gait under the stone archways. With a canvas bag of goods slung over one pauldron-clad shoulder and the melodic chime of plate mail accompanying her steps, Brynhilde turned right toward the Exchange.
There, pasted at a lop-sided angle and barely illuminated by the light of an oil lamp, was the flyer. The humidity in the air had already caused one corner of the parchment to curl up and away from the brick beneath. Bryn pressed an armoured finger down to flatten it as her pale eyes, pinched by a frown, scanned the words written there.
A swift glance left and right along the mouths of the stairwell, and the flyer was torn from its perch and crumpled tightly in a metal fist. The Highlander looked up at the now naked square of wall from beneath her brow, her fine features growing into a twisted sneer.
They shan't have her.
There, pasted at a lop-sided angle and barely illuminated by the light of an oil lamp, was the flyer. The humidity in the air had already caused one corner of the parchment to curl up and away from the brick beneath. Bryn pressed an armoured finger down to flatten it as her pale eyes, pinched by a frown, scanned the words written there.
A swift glance left and right along the mouths of the stairwell, and the flyer was torn from its perch and crumpled tightly in a metal fist. The Highlander looked up at the now naked square of wall from beneath her brow, her fine features growing into a twisted sneer.
They shan't have her.
