It was harder than she would have thought to return to the square. How long had it been? She asked herself rhetorically as she stepped into the place where all things began as the light slanted low over the roofs of the nearby building. A lifetime, was the only reply that fit. Nothing had changed she noted even as she felt that everything had changed, at least for her. Setting her jaw she took another step in, committing herself.

It was late, far later than was wise for someone looking for work and people had begun to close up shop. With hands that shook she reached up to touch her hair, making sure that the road hadn’t overly battered her tightly braided brown hair whose curls were in a constant state of near rebellion if not properly contained. Her hair was behaving itself, the braid was tight and neat, pulled back from her attractive, though not beautiful face. Her face was lean with high cheekbones and wide brown eyes and a straight line of a mouth that, when induced to smile, seemed to act like a miracle on her features, making them briefly pretty. Her nose, her nose ruined the whole effect. It was long and lean and had been in the past broken and grown in just a hair crooked. When she was younger she thought it gave her a fierce, professional look. Now though she worried it made her look like someone who didn’t know to duck. Which had been the case at the time, not as much just now. 

She moved into the square with deceptive ease, her liquid strides belying the ache in her bones which were weary from the long trip she’d had to get there. That she’d had more than a few healthy pulls from the flask in her pouch helped. Just enough to take off the ache, not enough to slow her down. She’d get to the point where she no longer needed drink, just not yet.

She just needed to hurt a little less, have a few more nights of sleep where she didn’t wake up in a panic, trying to claw off the bodies of her fallen comrades who threatened to smother her alive. She shivered just thinking about it, how it had felt, smelled, tasted to be buried alive by the dead and left. Her fingers flicked to the pouch on her hip and then pulled away, looking around at the people still lingering in the square, wondering which were brokers, which were possible clients. None of them would appreciate seeing a flask to her lips. That was hardly something to engender confidence in a new hire. Bad enough she was a woman and had that much more to prove. 

She paused when she saw him, a rumbled, ink-stained man speaking to all that passed by with a growing sense of urgency. He was not a broker she could see in an instant, his manner was all wrong and his mounting frustration was all but palpable. She took a step towards him and hesitated, hearing the words of Big George in her ears as he’d coached her through her first hire. 

[i]“Never take the first offer Kitten, let him pass and go for the next. It tells them you have choices. And if you don’t… Well walk away anyway, there’s a reason no one hired on with em.”[/i]

But Big George was dead, so much weighty meat over her back in that field and she had to weigh her options. There weren’t any other choices and she was honestly afraid she was about to lose her nerve. She’d taken too long to recover, her spirit was all but broken, but there were bills to be paid, mouths to feed and this, this was all she knew. Swallowing hard, pretending that she was taking in another pull of warm, steadying brandy she took another step towards the ink-wearer and then another until it seemed, almost by miracle that she was standing behind him. She heard his desperate words cast towards a man who was shrugging and looking smugly amused. 

Avantshire, she’d never been there. Hadn’t part of this whole thing started because she wanted to see more of the world? Avantshire may not be exotic, but it was a start. A baby step on the road. She needed one of those.

“Avantshire, you say?” she said as she laid a slender, sword callused hand on his shoulder, schooling her face into an expression of mild interest as she put gentle pressure on him to turn him towards her. 

“I just got into town but don’t mind heading out just as soon. We should talk, see what needs saying, maybe over something to eat. I know a good Inn not far from here and it would feel ridiculous to discuss such matters in a deserted square.” 

She stepped back and folded her arms across her chest, posing for him, hoping the just recently polished off signs on neglect on her armor was not noticeable in the dim light of the square. Leather and metal, fit her like a glove and she looked every inch the seasoned warrior she once had been. The leather and metal on her legs showed good use and was recently tended to, that on her feet and hands were the same. The leather tunic with its bits of protective metal was new though, almost painfully so next to the well-worn face of the other parts. But then her last jerkin had been destroyed when she’d been gutted and nothing in the world could have induce her to try to save the garment even though this one cost her a pretty penny that she did not have. 

“What say you?” she asked, fighting to keep desperation out of her voice. She would not lose her nerve, she repeated to herself over and over while she waited for his answer.