Frankie
Amaryllis Sweetford
Rural Northwind

Amaryllis walked over to the front door, peering out the window that was alongside of it. The area was bathed in soft, pale moonlight, though about half of the corral was overshadowed by the deep, dark shadows of the great oak which provided refreshing shade for any animals that were left there in the heat of the day. The sheep weren't laying down and silent, as they should be at this time of night, but rather were stood stalk still, staring silently into the gloom beneath the oak tree. Something was up. It might not be a wolf or anything, since she heard no warning snorts, but something had set the animals on edge.

"I'll be right back," She said as she grasped the staff that had been propped up against the door frame. "You stay inside." 

With that, she quickly ducked outside, staff gripped firmly in hand, prepared to meet whatever ills might beset her flock.
Carlos
Arvid Erwynson
Rural Northwind

Arvid's blade leered in the moonlight, jutting out from the great oak's shadow like that tree was its wielder. His eyes coldly shifted between the huddled sheep. Most were too plump to steal, others too scrawny, some concealed behind the herd. His gaze came to rest on a subadult - at least, he supposed that to be its age - and it would do well. He calmly strolled forward, prowling with an easy confidence; bobbing at his every step, that shiny steel reflected pale moonlight. So too did it mirror Arvid, shining a dim spotlight onto the cusp of his cheek. He glanced down at it before staring ahead at his bounty. The sheep recoiled like a hive minded mass. Their collective flinched away from him. 

The ewe of his choice cowered in the pen's leftmost corner. One by one, its fellow sheep abandoned its side, intimidated into flight. It pressed its flank into the stall's corner when the gentle moon was eclipsed by a man and his terrible sword. 

"Aren't you a pretty little thing?" Arvid took his blade's hilt in both hands, raising it above his head. Its tip was steady, unwavering, stark, and true in the night. "Goodnight, beauty."
Frankie
Amaryllis Sweetford
Rural Northwind

The sheep were not used to being handled by humans other than Amaryllis and Rosalee, and they barely tolerated the two of them sometimes, so they were already on edge at the presence of a strange human to begin with. Even more so when Arvid began cornering them, a small group of the flock bunching tightly around the ewe he had his eyes on, but slowly, as he pressed closer and closer, scattering off one by one, bolting past him with wide eyes and frightened bleats. 

The final ewe, all alone and trapped, had a wild look in her eye. She ducked her head low, eyeing Arvid wearily as she bobbed from side to side, hooves scuttling on the earth as she attempted to figure out the best route of escape. Then, like a linebacker, she lunged toward Arvid, head tucked and shoulder lowered to plow drive him with everything she had. If she couldn't escape by, she would escape through! 

What had started as simply unease had turned into an outright ruckus, sending Amaryllis into a dead-on sprint to protect her flock. 

As she approached, she could just make out a figure in the darkness and the glint of something silver in hand. A knife? She couldn't be sure, but she had no time to think! She had to protect her flock!

She leapt over the top rail of the fence, nightgown and cloak swirling about her, and ran towards the figure shouting, "Get out of here! Shoo! Git!" While raising her staff to attack.
Carlos
Arvid Erwynson
Rural Northwind

The sheep secured its fate in a moment of frenzy, scrambling straight to its death, blind with terror. His sword lunged down before sheathing itself in her racing mind. Her little thoughts were muted by a sword driven through her skull like a pike. She dashed her jaw against the packed dirt before growing terribly still. Arvid turned his head to witness a human shape - perhaps a specter, surrounded by a cloak and a ghastly nightgown - rushing towards him. His bicep tensed as he freed his blade from the slayed ewe. Silver, now crimson, raised to threaten the woman's face. He batted her staff away. Slick golden locks were white beneath the moonlight; shadows made a deep scowl of Arvid's boyish features. 

"It's dead already - I'll be taking it now. Unless your life is worth a sheep's, I would suggest you leave me to my work." Arvid's voice, despite its youth, was pure ice. It crept into one's ear like a curse. Settled into one's mind like a winter chill over the Witherlands. 

Unabashedly, Arvid stepped forward, wagering his steel against her staff's wood. Its tip was aimed for her throat. His gaze wandered along her. 

"Say, this homestead is humble, isn't it? You wouldn't happen to have anything *Valuable,* Would you, farmer? Nothing worth stealing aside from a sheep? It would be an awful shame for me to have to go through your things."