Damita smirked as he exhaled; was that a sigh of relief? Wouldn’t be for long, she was sure of that. Her hand came down hard, smacking the horse’s rump with a flat hand, the force of the blow making her palm sting – though it was satisfying to watch as the horse bucked, her lips curving into a smirk. Did he really think she was going with him by her own choice? If so, he was foolish, for he was going to have a fight on his hands.<br/><br/>The horse hadn’t reacted quite like she’d hoped; she’d wanted the animal to take off, give her some time to run or at least crawl beneath the carriage, though that wouldn’t be easy to do with the dress she was wearing. It had been all the rage in Spain – too daring for such a country as this. The red material was flimsy and floaty, the large yellow flowers considered too bright. Damita hadn’t cared, nor did she pay attention to the stares she received. In Spain, she had been thought to be bold and daring; here, she was called a tramp.<br/><br/>Having been about to bolt from that step, Damita gave a shout as she was grabbed by the hips, a fist striking out to hit him in the shoulder. “What is the meaning of this? How dare you, let go of me!” She wriggled, nails biting into his arm as she sought to unseat his arm from around her waist. Cinnamon gaze flicked around wildly, the girl looking back to see her father as he came around the carriage, wiping his eyes. “Papa! Papa! Please, don’t let them take me!” She shouted, struggling with the native warrior, unleashing a glare at Toho’s father as they moved closer.<br/>