Bells had passed without Brindle's feet touching ground, and he stumbled, cursing. When he'd steadied, he skipped back a few paces out of Styrm's immediate reach. He was wary of the roe. The dull ache of his beating was settling into a more active stiffness, followed by sharp spikes of pain.
"If yer Galleon's get, ye'll not have it," he spat, too tired to curb his tongue in the face of his uncertainty.
He was backing up, preparing to run.
"If yer Galleon's get, ye'll not have it," he spat, too tired to curb his tongue in the face of his uncertainty.
He was backing up, preparing to run.
