[center][h1][color=#b23434]N[/COLOR] [color=#ce4d4d]A[/COLOR] [color=#d95a5a]D[/color] [color=#df6161]I[/color] [color=#d95a5a]J[/color] [color=#ce4d4d]A[/color] [color=#b23434]H[/color][/h1][/center]
[right][color=#ae9c9c][i][b]Slums[/b]
Green District, Castle Town[/i][/color][/right]
[color=silver]
Nadijah was no longer aware of the rain. 

If droplets still reached her skin, she was completely unaware of it. Her heart was ablaze with anticipation, pumping fire into her veins and igniting her blood like[i] oil.[/i] It was a familiar, comforting feeling, and it made the concept of cold feel distant and foreign. She felt hot in her soaked cloak. She wanted to be rid of it.

She'd need to be rid of [i]him[/i] first.

Every second felt like an eternity ticking by, until a horn at the gate heralded the king's arrival. He was not difficult to spot once he rode close - and once the Gerudo's gaze landed upon him, nothing else mattered. He was a mountain of armour on horseback, sticking out from his entourage like a deep shadow cast on desert sand. An arrow would do him no harm, so Nadijah did not reach for quiver and bow. Just as well; a death delivered by a blade was more satisfying, anyhow.

His horse would go first, as they'd agreed. It would be a fitting end, truly; the king would fall off his horse as he would fall off grace. She'd be upon him in an instant, and her blade would ensure he never rose again. Such was the fate of cravens who relied on armour; it was their own metallic cowardice that slowed them an dragged them down, all the way to the pits of their own grave.

Nadijah's muscles tensed in anticipation as he drew nearer. She could hear the mob's approach, and so could the King and King's; they turned at the sound - distracted. In an instant the mob was upon them, the king separated from his guards by pitchforks, swords and shovels. Somewhere nearby, Telma was readying her bow. She could not blink now, or she'd miss it. 

The king's horse cried out.

Nadijah leapt, blade drawn and heart aflame. 
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