Kell smiled brightly at the comment from his newest opponent, "Clean out yer ears, lad. I didneh say yeh wer cheatin'... I said I didneh wanna cheat yeh."<br/><br/>His smile was bright, amused, and genuine as he took the kid's hand, nodded to Scottie, and began the match. Kell was no pushover, hardened by more than mere lumberwork. He would present a worthy challenge for the young warrior. He matched the boy's strength as he held back, showing no more strain than the boy displayed. As the match continued longer than he'd expected, he smiled brighter, "Well now... a worthy chalenge." the accent he'd displayed before slipped a bit, fading in his surprise, "Yeh've 'ad trainin'... I'll 'ave to buy yeh a drink and get yer story some time."<br/><br/>It was clear he was losing stamina, however. As the match continued, he was forced to put more effort into maintaining his position, yet the boy gave no ground. Over the rising chaotic noise of the cheering crowd the rest of the tavern was lost to the little knot of men. Kell couldn't see when a new figure entered the bar, the same man who he'd sent to follow the old man earlier. His compatriot returned, pushing his way through the crowd into Kell's line of sight. It was all the distraction he needed to cost him the match. As Kell looked up and noticed the look in his friend's eye, he lost focus on the match. With a painful jerk, his hold on the boy gave way and his arm wrenched backward.<br/><br/>Jovially, he clapped the lad on the shoulder, "Well done, indeed, lad... Quite the interesting display. Intellect to match the brawn of muscle. Rarely seen these days. I look forward to further contests with you."<br/><br/>With that, he rose, dropped the small purse of winnings before the kid, and nodded to his friend. Shrugging off the protests of the crowd, he began to head for the door. Something told him the kid wasn't finished, however, so he moved slowly enough that the lad could catch him if he desired.<br/><br/>=====================================<br/><br/>The charred bodies smoked, the wagon burned in places, and the horses thumped the ground and flicked their ears nervously, yet the girl didn't wake. She was limp, pale, barely breathing. Lacerations covered her arms, neck and face from her desperate flight through the woods. Her thigh was horridly split, a long open gash stretching nearly from hip to knee. She had lost a lot of blood already, and the bleeding showed no sign of slowing. The pungent aroma that came from the wound suggested the cut was not clean. Poison, maybe, but it was too dark to tell.<br/><br/>Whatever supplies she might have carried were gone. She had nothing more than the tattered, shredded trousers and vest. No shoes, no belt or other items. Her hair spread in a clotted, bloody mess of ebony waves. If she were standing, her hair would likely reach past her belt, which provided for a significant mess. She was slim, attractive, but closer examination would reveal the scarred and calloused hands of a hard working girl.  She remained completely unresponsive as the conversation carried on around her.