[img]http://imgur.com/SQm6im5.jpg[/img]

[i]Wham.[/i]

The painted woman had been able to close the distance between herself and Angora much quicker than Angora had counted upon, and she was defenceless against her attacks, what with the white-skin still trying to throttle Angora to death. She hadn't been able to kick out at the woman, largely because she hadn't noticed her approach thanks to the white-skin's efforts to cut off her limited air supply. Angora screamed in pain as the white-skin sank her teeth into her ear, but it was the kick that was the straw to break the camel's back. The kick impacted her on the side of the face, just above her mouth and at the side of her nose. Her world exploded into a mist of red and a fog of agonising pain. Angora felt a definite [i]crack[/i] in the area impacted, as well as the base of her nose by the bridge - the bone splintered as though the painted woman had kicked open a door. Blood gushed from freshly-opened wounds on Angora's face and her broken nose, as well as a bloodied lip, but it was nothing compared to the pain. Angora had never felt anything like it - it was almost analogous to being stabbed; which she might as well have been, given the boots of the painted woman had some kind of metal studs in them to aid in grip. The force almost wrenched Angora's head from her spinal column - by some miracle she had escaped a fatal neck injury, but she was in no fit state to fight back anymore. Tears streamed from her reddened eyes and dripped into the open wounds on her face - the salt made the pain even worse (as if she thought such a thing was possible) and they mixed with the blood to fall upon the ground.

Before Angora could even so much as attempt to raise an arm in defence, there was another spike of pain from her chest. Evidently the painted woman was not finished, for now she was placing what must have been all of her weight onto Angora's right breast. It was bad enough that the woman had kicked her in the face, but now she was effectively stepping on her? And... Angora's face blanched with fear. She could dimly see the crossbow bolt aimed directly at her head. At this range, the painted woman wasn't going to miss. And Angora would be dead as soon as it hit her. Terrified now of her almost-certain fate, Angora's demeanour had changed completely - no longer was she the screaming embodiment of rage from before, incensed at these people crossing her path... but they were now her vanquishers. They might well be her killers. She didn't know their language, but she could barely speak herself. Somehow, she managed to stammer out "[i]P-P-Please... n-no...[/i]" in her own tongue, in the vain hope that they would spare her life.

Inwardly, she braced for death.