Fury.

As Valerian gazed upon the emerald clad girl, all he became witnessed to was burning anger. Her rapid words were like a projectile, shooting at him when she really had nothing left to toss. From the high hill the archer had beheld the tiny spectacle of conflict moments before and had gotten a brief preview of her abilities, but now she was much like a wounded doe. Weakened and inferior in the current situation, leaving him to host no fear for the fair maiden and whatever skills she might possess. 

Question after question bubbled unhindered from the sorceress and the elf consciously decided to not voice any kind of reply. Instead he watched and listened, while he made up his opinion regarding the bold stranger. From his rough assessment of the girl, he could tell that she was fairly young. Judging by the dirt on her clothes, he figured that she must have been alone for some time. 

Finally offered the opportunity, Mithanil corrected the youngster harshly. “He would have returned for revenge.” His accent was thick in the common tongue, as the language was one he had not practiced in many years. 

Retaliation was a strong drive, feeding on injustice and hatred. Perhaps the complete drain of magic had caused a severe lapse of judgement on her part, or maybe she was just plainly stupid to believe that mercy would be a suitable reward for a rapist and killer. Valerian found her incredibly dumb and naïve, but mostly rude. However, it might be a fitting set of traits considering she looked like the high and mighty that had been spoiled by the comforts of civilization.

She had an awfully lot to say after just being spared a slit throat and a dishonoured corpse. Word after word poured profusely over her lips, and each and every one aggravated him greatly. Perhaps she was deliberately trying to provoke him; pushing him for a final reaction. He was strongly inclined to send the fourth arrow on its way and silence her twittering, but he stayed his arm for now. He remained idle, arm and bow still drawn in a readied position, face decorated in a mask of stern lines. Anger hovered over him, enraptured him. 

“What do you know of threats and intimidation, small lass? You are awfully far away from stitching school and the security it offers.” He mocked, not being the one to easily embrace insults. Whoever she was, he could draw the conclusion that she wasn’t the average peasant spending the days trying to survive and endure. She was misplaced, an oddity out here in the open with her fancy clothes. Whoever she was, she was most likely important to someone else. Who wouldn’t search for a distressed maiden in a extravagant court dress? 

Unveiling her identity brought the archer little clarity. His interest for the human enclave was non-existing and in his years beyond the reach of the social world had left him very out-dated. To him, she was a young sorceress far from her element with nothing but a bad attitude. She acted all tough, believing that she ruled the world. 

“Still your tongue, Mela Caerleon or see yourself with these men.” It was a threat, as he had grown tired of her voice. A moment later he slowly gave away to the tension of the bowstring, letting his strong arm securely retreat the string without launching the bolt. He hung the bow over his left shoulder and put the arrow down amongst the herd in the quiver, before he urged the red mare into motion. His right hand rested cautiously on the handle of his blade, staying ready to use it if needed.

Valerian continued to intentionally ignore her multitude of inquiries, as he saw no reason to brief her on either his name or true allegiance. They were all alone out here; every man and woman for themself. This act – this interception of violence – was only a mean to hopefully come over some provisions. He was straight out starving, but he would never take to cannibalism like many others around the realm. However, if he wouldn’t stumble upon any food in the coming week, he knew he had to slaughter the horse in order to survive. The product of a dead mount though, would leave him over encumbered and more than half of the meat would be in the first stages of decomposing before he had the opportunity to dry and conserve it. 

The mount slowly carried him down the slope and he gazed quickly over the fallen dwarfs as he passed the first two. They wore no satchels or backpacks, and the single thing that donned their bodies were their sleek armours. A wave of disappointment rolled over him and he looked up at Mela momentarily. The young lady looked awfully thin on supplies as well. The decision to intervene had cost him time and a handful of bloody arrows, which he needed to retrieve. 

“I have no quarrel with you.” Valerian began, voice easing into something less tense. “Stay out of my path and I will not harm you.” Since there was at least a dozen meter in between them, he considered it safe to touch ground. He dismounted with ease and left the red horse standing alone before he walked the few paces to the closest corpse and yanked the arrow free.