Barefoot now, Shiloh is dwarfed by Woem's stature, but shows every bit as much confidence as the massive pit-fighter as she steps up to the ringleader.  Her wild eyes are glimmering with scarcely-contained fury, and her slender hands hang loose, but at the ready, as if desperate to take action.  Her adrenaline courses and her pulse thrums at the thought of this man's glee... the cruel satisfaction on his face as he sets the crowd upon an old man and his guard... the boasting he would bellow over ales as he recounted the old man's lynching, the bold guard's violation.  Oh, she had imagined it a thousand times for her brothers at the monastery... she desn't know if it's that anger, or something new, that drives her to this.<br/><br/>Closing the distance to the rabble's intrepid leader, she juts out her chin as if daring him to act.  He's trapped, now-- he can't back down or he'll lose face in front of his drinking buddies.  His conviction will be questioned, and he'll lose their respect.  This long-eared girl doesn't even carry a weapon.<br/><br/>"If you leave now," she says loudly enough for the others to hear, "you will not be harmed."