[center][color=f49ac2][h3]Smudge Pixelby[/h3][/color][/center]

Beat, beat of hard steps running on dirt.

A pebble on the road is sitting in just the wrong place at just the wrong angle. The foot that catches it slides where it was meant to push, pitching the weight of the runaway forwards into hardened mud. She yelps at the impact, pushes herself off the ground with an arm and an elbow.

Too late.

[i]"Heelp! Help me! Thief!"[/i]

Data cancer IA-920, known to its friends as Smudge Pixelby, looks back over its shoulder at the grim man running after it. It turns back to the way it was running, sees a tall being with a stave and a not-quite-so-tall one in horned armour, wearing a bastard sword. It looks back at the man.

The edge of the road is nothing but thicket. IA-920 is already tired.

No more running.

"Catch her!"

At this point it's clear that there's no need. The man with the long straight hair and rope belt is middle-aged but far from fit. He gasps as he reaches the anomaly. IA-920 takes a half-step back but no more, clutching the book firmly in its arms.

Perhaps afraid of embarrassing himself if he should swipe for the leather tome, the man addresses the two wanderers, a long finger levelled straight at Smudge.

"That girl," he wheezes, "is a filthy scoundrel, who broke into my home, vandalised my belongings and stole a cherished heirl-"

[b][i][color=f49ac2]"You don't even READ it!"[/color][/i][/b] screams IA-920 through its speakers, the snow in its screen flashing into solid red. [b][color=f49ac2]"You don't even [i]care![/i]"[/color][/b]

"That book is the last thing I have left of my old master!" the scholar yells back. "How [i]dare[/i] you say I don't care!"

[color=f49ac2][b]"You can't even-"[/b][/color] Smudge seems to realise that she's still three steps away from a pair of adventurers that could be a much bigger problem than the man from the town. She looks back defensively, says nothing.