Lykurg was a large horse. His father had been a draft horse, actually. He was stronger than he was quick, however he was also unfortunately wounded. Two normally wouldn't be a problem, but Torm wanted to get a look at that wound, and he could tell the horse was not feeling his best, much like his master. Still, they couldn't stop, not even just for their fates but for the lady. It was presumptive to think she was a princess, save for the fact she was clearly not from the west, but her nobility was a sure thing. 

"We will escape," He told her, sounding less like a promise and more like willing it to be true. He felt like a wolf at bay, but his mind was unclouded. As a crossbow quarrel scythed between the two of them and punched into an old oak, Torm tugged on Lykurg's reins. The powerful horse whinnied and spun on a dime, trampling into the forest at an angle from the road they had come. The brambles crackled and leaves thwished against their extremities as Torm kept Lykurg on the path, the horse's head bowed. The woman clung to the beast's neck as if it were her lifeline, and he knew it was in more ways than one. 

Shouts erupted from all sides of the woods, but the growth was too thick to see any of them. Gradually they grew fainter as Lykurg stepped onto a small path, and both horse and rider sped forward, vaguely toward where the voices had last been. Torm smiled feircely when the small road curved left up a small slope, Lykurg leaping over a small stream. The woman squealed, but not loudly, knowing stealth was paramount. A handful of minutes later, they reached the main road to Yattar yet again. To their left, Torm saw the hill where he had first spotted the lady in trouble, and instead turned right, up the road that now lay empty. He whipped the horse's reins, and tireless Lykurg stormed forward, passing another muted shout. He couldn't guess if they had seen him or were simply communicating, but even if the three of them had been discovered, they had a head start now. Torm kept Lykurg on the road for the next fifteen minutes, constantly glancing back over his shoulder to make sure they weren't followed. After a few miles, he slowed Lykurg to a canter and bade the lady let him help her sit on the saddle with him. She acquiesced, though he could tell she was relieved. 

He felt awkward and timorous with the lady so close, now that the action was over. There were multiple layers of clothing between them, which helped, but still.  

"Thank you for aiding me, sir." She said at last, exhaling as if only now could she finally catch her breath. 

"It's my honor, but I am no sir, my lady." He remarked, and she glanced back at him, somewhat shocked at the pronouncement. He felt the need to explain, as if she had cast some spell. "I... I had expected to be, but I was released from service before I could be granted the title. I'll not pry on your travels unless you wish to grace me, but I was hoping to be granted patronage at Yattar to perhaps gain another chance." 

"Well you're off to a good start," she said with a dry wit. He snorted, and was unable to keep himself from grinning. Little did he know she was meant what she said. The lady looked back at him, and he realized her eyes were green like emeralds. The sages said green eyes were a sign of sorcery, but he cast that aside. It wouldn't do to assume witchery on the woman he saved. 

"What's your name?" She asked him. He realized their eyes had been locked for some moments, and he looked to the road. 

"Torm Draufkrieg, my lady." He replied. "Of Eisenriek."

In a manner of speaking, Torm was a member of the nobility, only very distant and one who had lost favor in the courts of his homeland. Fleeing to the mainland, they had naught but a rarely listened claim to aristocracy, and when no one listened, it might as well not exist at all.  

"Perhaps not a knight in name, but in deed." The lady said, and Lykurg snorted. She blinked as if someone had called her something untoward, and then she giggled. It brought a smile to Torm's face. 

"This is Lykurg, it was both of our pleasure to help." Torm said, and then winced, letting out a small groan. The lady looked at him, concern on her beautiful face. So close, she truly did seem exotic to his experience. She placed a soft hand on his cheek, warm and pleasant despite the dried blood. 

"Are you hurt?" She inquired. 

"Not from this battle." He assured her. Torm had an honest way about him, with a boyish charm to his smile, yet an experienced look in his eyes that gave him a rougher quality than some cloistered page. "I was lucky here. Not so lucky elsewhere."    

"I hear there is a river that crosses the road to Yattar. We'll stop there and grant your horse and yourself some rest. Then I can ask how you speak Vencal so well." She said, and when he was about to explain, she shushed him with a look.