The next few hours were a blur to Amal. His heart pounded and his head burned from fear and worry. The thief didn't remember putting on clothing, but somehow he was both closed and armed with a leaf shaped blade. He leaped over gnarled roots and tore past thickets, with no thought to his skin being cut and pricked at. All he knew was that Emmaline had been taken. The thief had found two droplets of blood on the floor and Emmaline missing when he returned, as well as muddied tracks leading in from the back of the house. He vowed he would gut the man who dared touch his woman. 

Sir Brenly trailed behind him, mustache covered in leaves and his northman outfit much more accommadating to his stature compared to the incongruous way Amal wore the wool garb he'd been given. Sir Brenly had insisted upon joining Amal, even after the Arabyan refused the aid of the village or chief, not trusting any of the islanders at the current moment (save Douglas, who offered to track). He did not say that to the Laird, as he truly didn't expect that the people of the village had decided to kidnap her together. But he worked better alone, or with a smaller retinue. 

Douglas McCabe, his red hair wild and his mustache even thicker than Brenly's stalked through the woods as if born to it. He likely was, in all due reality. He bore his spear before him, having lent Sir Brenly his hide shield and bearded axe. He followed the big man's tracks easily, guiding Amal and Brenly deeper and deeper into the woodlands, passing glens and moors in what seemed to be an almost erratic way to travel. 

"Whoever gnabbed yer lassie is a complete fool." Douglas marveled, shaking his head at the latest sign of passing. They were getting very close, Amal knew. Just another hour and they'd be on them. "It's probably Gerard, that bastard."

"He'll be dead soon." Amal uttered, sending a chill through the other men's spines. He had such a will to kill, it was almost tangible. Sir Brenly patted the thief's back, calming him somewhat. The Knight had been through many campaigns and various situations like this one, it was good to have him around. 

"Aye, like as not from Orcs. We've passed a doozen Greenskin tracks the las' mile." He said. "But we're gainin', I sey. Just another few-" 

There was a rumble in the brush across the small glade they now found themselves in, and out stepped Gerard. The great man looked angry and frustrated, grumbling until he noticed he stood before three people he more or less knew. All four men looked at one another, confused. There was a brief pause where no one moved until Gerard went for his club. His hand made it to his lower stomach when Amal's thrown dirk impaled it to his belly. His face reddened in pain and he whined like a dog as Amal approached, his leaf shaped blade now pressed to his throat. 

"If you don't tell me where she is, I will take your tongue, and follow with your fingers. Your penis will be last." He promised. 
[@Penny]