The man she had knocked unconscious tumbled noiselessly to the ground, dropping like a dead weight. At first, Johanna was tempted to investigate the man for the severity of his wounds, but she resisted as Asher called to her. She made her way over to Asher as quickly as she could, stumbling over fallen crates, and other precious items that the refugees deemed valuable to take with them, as she went. Johanna had unpinned the folds of her dress for the evening before the raiders sprang upon them. She had been caught off guard, the fabric from her gown hindered her movements. 

Suddenly, Asher hurled his dagger towards her. She covered her face in horror, crying aloud as she did so. How could he betray her now?! Yet when the blow from the hurled blade did not come, she uncovered her eyes and saw that Asher had not the intention to slay her. Looking over her shoulder, Johanna spotted a woman with his blade embedded in her abdomen. Now was not the time to get sick, Johanna told herself bitterly as she fought back an up-rise of bile. The sound of clanging metal, screams of the dying, of the helpless, the images of the scene unfolding at hand filled her head, nauseated her. Fighting to regain her senses, Johanna began to move hastily towards Asher once more, and as she came upon him, she found him upended by a rather large and burly man. Fear struck her dead in the heart. Surely she would die here, on this night.

The weak hearted woman fought back the urge to sit in the midst of the carnage and cry. Cry for her mother, for her brothers, for the comfort of her home, for the old familiar smells of her shop. Instead, a spark of courage, the flame for survival ignited. The man that tortured her partner relentlessly would be eliminated. She spotted the short-sword at her feet, it had fallen from her hands after she covered her eyes to hide herself away from the horror. Now, with the sword once again in her hands, she had to save her companions life, no matter the cost.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, something clicked. One could call it her instincts, for she crept towards the man, timing her movements between each swing. And between each swing, she quickened her pace, until she was at a full sprint. Johanna approached him from behind, and with one quick thrust, she plunged the blade into his back, giving a frightening yell as she went. It was primal, filled with rage, and pain.