There's a figure stirring around the fire. Is it Cyrus? I wave and call out, "Hallo, the camp!" The figure leaps up, startled, but relaxes when he spies me. As I approach, I manage to make out his features. It's not old Cyrus, but a grime-covered Nord dressed in furs. A hunter? He grins, betraying his rotting teeth.
"Well hallo yerself, girl."
I push my wet hair out of my face and gesture to the fire. "Mind if I join you? It's a mite wet out."
"Sure, sure!" he says with a soft chuckle and beckons me toward the flames.
I squat down by the fire and warm my hands over the crackling flames. The burning logs hiss and pop in the drizzle, but the heat and scent of woodsmoke are ever so reassuring.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see the hunter lick his lips. Lest he get any ideas, I let my hand casually fall to the hilt of my sword.
"What's a pretty little thing like you doin' way out here?" he asks, eyeing the iron warily.
"On a bit of a walk-about, mostly. Thought I'd do some hunting. Game good out here?"
He looks around at the forest. "Oh yeah. Lots o'..." He trails off, thinking. "Squirrels. Yeah."
I shuffle in my satchel and pull out an apple. As I bite into it, I let my eyes casually drift around the camp. No bow or arrows. A heavy mace, no good for taking down game and yet... there's blood on it. Too late, the truth dawns on me. He's an outlaw. And if he's squatting on Cyrus's prospect that means...
He circles the campfire, slowly, and the flames glimmer in his wicked eyes. Again that grin. "Y'know," he says, low and menacingly, "I could use some warming up, too. A girl like you can make a man — hurk!"
I throw the half-eaten apple at him, catching his brown mid-sentence, and he stumbles back in surprise.
"You bitch!" he cries, and before I can draw my sword he slaps me across the mouth. I fly back into the mud, momentarily blinded by the stinging pain. I feel his heavy hands grabbing me, and I scream as he rips my dress. I kick madly, once, twice. The third kick connects, and I hear a little crunch and a holler. As I pull myself out of the mud, I see his hand clasped to his side, wincing. I've broken his ribs and now I've got to press the advantage.
He limps towards his mace as I fumble for my sword, then he stumbles towards me with a clumsy blow. "You'll pay for that!"
He swings madly, and I try to parry his blows. The mace is heavy and it's all I can do to stop from buckling under the weight of his attacks, clumsy though they are. I know I can't beat him in a battle of strength, so I desperately change my tactics. As his mace whistles towards me, I duck and slash. The scream and spray of hot blood on my face tell me my cut landed.
My attacker slumps to the ground, hands trying madly but in vain to pile his entrails back into his stomach. I crawl back in shock as I watch him scream. I clasp my hands over my ears and try to look away from the horror my blade has wrought. After what feels like an eternity, his screams quiet, and when I can bear to open my eyes again I see his body laying silently in the mud, a bloody pool spreading around him.
