Frankie
Amaryllis Sweetford
Rural Northwind

Amaryllis' blood boiled at the sight of her slaughtered yearling. The poor creature laid with its nose buried in the earth, tongue lolled out and eyes wide open and glassy as blood pooled dark and black around it. Such a horrible death for the poor creature, and more importantly, a major loss of profit! That was to be the new generation—the foundation of her growing enterprise!

She scowled at Arvid, staff gripped tightly in her hand as she growled, "Get off my land, or by the gods I will strike you down. There is nothing for you here—not even that sheep." 

Unfortunately, this was not the first time she was standing at the receiving end of a blade, nor would it probably be her last. Thankfully, she had gained some experience in self-defense in her travels and was no longer entirely the helpless shepherdess she had been when she last faced off against someone over her flock. *Damn shifter anyhow*

The only bad thing was that she was at somewhat of a disadvantage, having come out here in her nightclothes and barefoot. Nevertheless, she was intent on defending herself and her property.
Carlos
Arvid Erwynson
Rural Northwind

Arvid narrowed his eyes as she remained defiant, steadfast in her resistance, her cloak billowing in the sharp breeze that had stirred. So they were still, locked in their positions. Like dogs in the street, tails rigid, hackles bristling, waiting with snarls for the other to act first. The shepherdess spoke; a dog had opened its jaws. In one motion, he stepped forward, and his sword followed suit. Arvid's blade pricked a pinhole into her throat - a mild, if not stinging injury - and that cold steel corked the wound, preventing it from leaking. 

"You aren't in any position to be making demands," He cooly reminded her, tone nonchalant, "You've got your stick, your slip, your bare feet, and a sword at your throat." Arvid's gaze suddenly hardened. His voice grew cruel, his intentions unmistakable, and his frown deepened. "I'll kill your entire fucking flock. You can watch too, if you like. Answer me. What do you have that's worth stealing?"
Frankie
Amaryllis Sweetford
Rural Northwind

She was tempted to lash out, to flail at him with her staff and clobber him over the head with it. She could probably get a good clock in alongside the head... But the risk was too great, with the blade at her throat. She couldn't leave Rosalee an orphan.

Her eyes flicked back towards the cabin for a moment at the thought of Rosalee, then back to Arvid, quickly turning back into a glare. Sometimes the best defense was playing it cool and letting them think they had completely bested you. When their guard was down a little, then you could regain the upperhand. 

"Nothing," She hissed. "That sheep was one of the most valuable things here."
Carlos
Arvid Erwynson
Rural Northwind

Arvid's gaze followed hers to her home, albeit in a predatory manner. His trailed Amaryllis' like a wolf followed a caribou's tracks, knowing her subconscious sought to guard its goods - it was instinctual, the fear of losing one's valuables. Had she thrown her attentions to the cabin in a ploy, or did they escape there, considering the chance of Arvid merely passing her by? Did the poor shepherdess think that she could preserve her sheep, her belongings, and herself? It was a mighty task. Arvid hummed as he considered those things. Then, he spoke.

"Then you shouldn't mind me checking. Lay down on the ground." Arvid commanded, pressing his blade into her flesh. "Lay that staff down, too. Let go."
Frankie
Amaryllis Sweetford
Rural Northwind

Amaryllis winced slightly as the blade dug deeper into her flesh, biting deeply enough to draw a bit of blood that slowly slipped down her neck. 

"There's nothing there!" She insisted again, though when his blade only dug deeper in response, she let go of the staff, letting it fall to the earth with a soft thud, sending nearby sheep scattering. The animals, already driven to a frenzy by the heavy stench of blood and the slaughter of one of their own, were more skittish than ever. 

He wouldn't harm Rosalee, would he? He would have no use for a child! Surely! The thought of the child's safety preoccupied her mind more than thought of valuables—more than thought for herself. 

Slowly she knelt down, and when he pulled the blade away just enough, she laid face down on the earth, the thick scent of the soft, upturned dirt mixed with lanolin and manure and other various wastes filling her nose. Once more her eyes flicked to the cabin, where she saw the curtains move.
Carlos
Arvid Erwynson
Rural Northwind

Arvid took a deep breath, which tasted of earth, metal, and fear. As soon as Amaryllis surrendered her staff, his foot shot out to kick it across the pen. Momentarily, his sword was not posted at her neck. As if to predict a resistance - one that did not come - his blade lunged towards her sinking form. Inches separated it from her scalp. He relished in the outright control; still, she moved to grovel. With her home and her livelihood balanced on his sword's tip, she knelt, forfeiting herself for the sake of it all. An honorable thing, he thought, down on its luck. How unfortunate for the poor soul, to be struck by a robber in the dead of night. Pity. What obedience, too. Arvid thought for a moment that the sweet shepherdess could have made a good wife. Not for him, but some righteous man. These thoughts culminated in an action: with Amaryllis before him, lowering herself to the dirt, he swiftly jabbed her breastbone with his boot. A blow that would burgle her coming breath. 

"I'll be back for you. Stay." Arvid trotted to her staff, bending down to retrieve it before moving towards the cabin's entrance. 

Arvid stood before her door. He examined her staff, assessing its weight in his grip. It was an unwieldy thing - a piss poor thing to pit against his steel - nothing worth keeping. Like one would launch a javelin, he tossed it into the nearby woods. Twigs groaned and snapped distantly as it found a resting place in that wilderness.
Frankie
Amaryllis Sweetford
Rural Northwind

Amaryllis doubled up in pain, desperately gasping for air that seemed to stubbornly resist her, and watched Arvid stalk to the cabin. *Please, please, hide* She thought frantically, terrified for Rosalee. *Please let her be safe.* With a trembling, contorted body, she started to try to drag herself over to the edge of the pen, hopeful that her breath would return to her and she could run to get Rosalee, if need be. At least try to defend her!

Rosalee had been peering out from behind the curtains and had witnessed the whole scene, watching in horror as Amaryllis had been held at knife point and struck. As the strange man turned and started for the cabin, pure, cold terror gripped her. What was he coming for? Would he hurt her? Would he kill her like those bad men had killed her parents? 

She scurried away from the window, the pale curtains fluttering like ghosts, and dove under the bed, hoping that he would never look under there and that the blankets that hung down off of it would help hide her. Her heart thundered so loud in her chest that she could have sworn that he would hear it, blood rushing through her ears from pure adrenaline. 

The door opened, creaking loud and long, followed by the thud of boots walking around inside. She clasped her hand over her mouth, desperate to not let out even the slightest of sound. She scarcely breathed!
Carlos
Arvid Erwynson
Rural Northwind

Arvid's entrance was announced by the door creaking, protesting his very presence, and the floors followed suit. Floorboards groaned with the burden of his presence. Every step was announced with a creaky protest. The door was left ajar. Clouds swirled and shrouded the moon's silver light. Total darkness. A pervasive, suffocating thing. It filled the mouth and flooded the senses, suffocating delicate human senses; darkness, stillness, sent a mind to war with itself. Floorboards warned little Rosalee of danger like sheep crying to their flock. A footstep. Another. Until they were crashing into one another, step after step, echoing in the house. 

Arvid idly searched through what belongings were laid throughout the house. His sword's tip nosed through sacks and lifted lids. His hands tinkered with locks, knobs, glasses, intimate possessions that were not their own. Alien surfaces and textures. Adrenaline spiked his senses - everything was so novel - his actions were deeply forbidden. There he was, in someone's parlor, inspecting the details of their life. He was mad with curiosity and delight. Feet rapidly pranced this way and that, and fingers merrily explored a whole homestead of new sensations. Arvid whistled out a tune of his own creation, a chipper melody, tapping his foot and rifling through a shelf near the hiding child.
Frankie
Amaryllis Sweetford
Rural Northwind

Rosalee laid there beneath the bed, heart thundering and hand clasped tightly over her mouth. It wasn't like she could make a sound anyway—try as she might. She had tried to talk to Amaryllis before, but it wasn't like her voice was imprisoned somewhere within her. She wanted to talk! Desperately so! She just... Couldn't. 

She peered out from her hiding place, watching the pair of boots tromp around the house as Arvid snooped through their things. There really wasn't much in the way of valuables. Food, a few small pieces of jewelry, various knickknacks, and some coins hidden beneath the mattress. The majority of Amary's savings, however, was hidden beneath the floorboards. 

The tune, while chipper in nature, was enough to send chills through Rosalee. This man was not only here to rob them, but was enjoying it too! Her eyes slid to the still-ajar door, then back to the boots, debating whether she could get out from her hiding place fast enough and make a sprint for the door. No, he was too close at the moment. Perhaps if he moved over to the other side of the cabin, with his back to her, then she could slip out from under the bed and make a run for it.
Carlos
Arvid Erwynson
Rural Northwind

Arvid pocketed the jewels and ate of the food, biting into bread with one hand whilst sifting through the drawers. He set it aside, half enjoyed and shedding crumbs, on the cabinet. He dusted his hands off before continuing his search. His boots bared their heels to the girl, and they began to cross the cabin's floor. His sword, sheathed in the boyish delight of his search, was once again drawn. His whistling turned to humming, humming to a shuffling of his feet. Arvid's boots began gingerly stepping onto the various boards, feeling a change in their uniformity. He prodded the floor in this way. Eventually, moving feet became a sword tapping the wood: the sharp, staccato *Thump* Of steel striking a hard surface. Percussive and cold.

There was a narrow window, in the mind of a child, to flee. Though his reach was great, and his intentions were wicked, Arvid was turned. Occupied. Maybe she could slip between him and the wall. Maybe his sword would catch her throat. It tapped the floor. Wood groaned as Arvid's weight shifted.
Frankie
Amaryllis Sweetford 
Rural Northwind

The child stared at the boots, far enough away from her now and pointed in the opposite direction. He seemed to be preoccupied, tapping on the floorboards and searching for something. Rosalee really didn't know what he expected to find! As far as she knew, Amary didn't have anything of real value! But maybe this would buy her the time she needed to escape.

Slowly, carefully, the child crawled out from under the bed, moving silently so as to not draw attention to herself. Then, once fully out from under it and standing upright, she made a break for it, springing across the one-room house and making a desperate dive for the door. It was as if the rest of the world melted away, her one and only focus zeroing in on the door. On freedom.
Carlos
Arvid Erwynson
Rural Northwind

Arvid stilled as his skin prickled, telling of a movement in the house. He was unsure of its source, but the floors sighed, betraying all who trusted the wood with their weight. Then, the skittering of small feet, like an overgrown rodent. Arvid's blade snapped out, its cutting edge turned to the ceiling - the child was intercepted by its flat side. Cold eyes blazed with some unrecognizable emotion. Perhaps a volcanic frustration. Perhaps a childish mirth. It was difficult to discern. Rosalee was given a glimpse of him: well groomed, blonde, fair skinned and frosty-eyed. Nothing that fit the bill of the bandits of rumor. Bandits were filthy, rugged man-beasts. 

She was given a moment to consider him before his blade - still pacified - batted her onto her rear. Arvid glanced towards the door. Then, he speared the child with his eyes. 

"You must be scared." Arvid kneeled, keeping the cabin's entry in his peripheral vision. "You'll be okay. Just tell me where mommy keeps her coins."
Frankie
Amaryllis Sweetford
Rural Northwind

The child fell to the floor with a harsh thud, staring at Arvid with wide, frightened eyes. Eyes much like the sheep that now lay dead outside. Golden in color, big and round with terror, they darted from Arvid, to the door, and back to Arvid once again as he started to kneel down to look her in the eyes. Fear gripped her, and Rosalee skittered backwards away from him using her hands and feet.

But there really was no where to go, and she didn't get far before her back bumped into the rough wood and mud wall. She was trapped, her back quite literally to the wall, and with her only escape route blocked off by Arvid. 

Her breath came rapid and ragged, gasps that bordered somewhere between sobs and outright hyperventilation. She wanted to scream! To beg Amary to come rescue her! To tell the bad man to leave her and Amary alone! Anything! Instead, all she could do was quiver like a mouse trapped by a cat! Silent and helpless.

But even if she could speak, she couldn't have given him what he wanted. She didn't know where Amary kept any coins!