[i]"Gods above, why are my legs so short? Go [b]faster dammit[/b]!"[/i] Rozalia thought to herself angrily, brow furrowed in determination as she tore through the camp, arms pumping as her legs carried her as fast as they could go. Octavius needed to hear this information as soon as possible, but just as luck would have it, some bandits cut down her horse. Bastards. At the very least they wouldn't be bothering anyone else again, not if her swords had anything to say about it.
"Out of my way!" She practically bellowed at what she was certain was a superior officer as she barreled around the corner, wincing slightly at the angry yells from behind, but ignoring them anyway. There wasn't time. Lives could depend on this information.
After running full pelt for a good hour or so, she finally reached the commander's tent, in the centre of the camp. Legs trembling uncontrollably from the sudden stop, she approached the entrance, only to be pushed back by one of the soldiers positioned there.
"It's late, soldier. Why do you approach?" He began, looking down on this lower ranked woman with stern eyes. 
"I have - information." She said between panting breaths. "And - I don't - give a damn - how late it is." She growled in response, momentarily forgetting herself - not that you could blame her. She was exhausted, having been at the city for a good few days, spying on the various different guard patrols in the city, practically running back without stopping, and was still suffering untended wounds from the run in she had had with the bandits. Cuts on the arms and side, they weren't particularly bad - unless you'd been sprinting a marathon with them, that was. Turning her gaze now to Octavius, still panting slightly, and blood still dribbling lazily from her light wounds, she stepped away from the guard. "It's in regards to the city, and the patrols. And your brother."