Felicity's eyes had slid to the dirty cobblestones just behind the heels of the horse she'd followed, trying to go numb and mindless, to release thought in order to keep from drowning - but the unexpected sound of scuffle drew her attention, and her gut twisted recognizing the tavern, and the guardsman who strode forward. Owen, sweet-spoken Owen of whom she'd thought when Brom had taken from her the very thing she'd hoped to offer to this man.<br/><br/>He was not from this town, he'd told her of the large city; had even hinted at taking her there. Her heart had leapt at the prospect of going with him, escaping the contsant and terrible fear that lurked in this place, a fear he hadn't yet come to understand - and, in lacking it, let him move forward in anger at the sight of her so bound at the throat and humiliated.<br/><br/>"Oh god..." she whispered, her own eyes going wide at the horror of him seeing her like this, and she actually took a few steps toward him before the feel of the rope on her throat made her stop, shaking hands raising. "Owen!" His name upon her lips was faintly hopeful, but moreover it was anguished and fearful - he had anger in his eyes where any other man would be wise enough to show shuttered acceptance, releasing her from their heart like one dead.