After much pressing from Douglas and Sir Brenly, Amal had not butchered Gerard yet. Their interference was needed, as Amal had already taken three of his fingers by the time they had halted him. He would have made good on his threat about Gerard's tongue, but he needed the man to speak. Amal wiped his dirk against the cool morning tufts of grass. Douglas was almost sweating, looking at Gerard's figure in the fetal position, shaking his shaggy heard. 

"This is no' good. I thought ye were jus' bluster. If Gerard's father finds out there'll be a blood fued. They don't take kindly tae men hurtin' their own." He told Amal, causing Sir Brenly to sigh. The Knight had heard such feuds before in Brettonia all too often.

"Do you think I care?" Amal asked coldly, still watching Gerard crying on the ground; a soft pool of blood seeping into the soft earth. "I've angered a demi-god, dark elves, and teeming hordes of rat-men. Gerard's kin will need to get in a long line if they think my head is theirs." Had Emmaline not been lost, he would have been smiling viciously. 

"I'll kill ye, bastard!" Gerard wheezed, rage mixing with fear when he looked up at the dangerous Arabyan. The sun had just began to peek over the horizon, giving the air a grey palour. The air was thick and wet with fog, and Amal wondered if this was all a long game by Settra or even Nagash himself to curse him for any transgressions he might have given either in Araby. It was just when he decided he would cut out another finger that he heard an all-too familiar "oof!" Amal snapped immediately, head raised like a hound on the hunt. 

At the edge of the clear, having tripped over an ornately carved rock was Emmaline, golden hair scattered and body covered in miniature cuts and blades of grass. Amal's heart suddenly thumped, and he knew it was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. 

"Emm!" He called happily, not spending any time dawdling as Sir Brenly might say. He sprinted over to her, expertly dropping to his knees to slid up and scoop her up in his arms. "Emm..." he murmured far more gently, slipping his fingers under  her blonde hair to whisk it out of her eyes. He next spoke in Arabyan. "My love, are you hurt?" The thief did not care about the cold on his own skin. He immediately covered her in his jacket. He saw her glance at the ground, before meeting his eyes. 

"It's not silk sheets, but it'll do." 

Amal smiled fiercely. 
[@Penny]