Upon departure.

She awoke in the dark, the sound of gruff voices around her and a gentle flickering of flame. She was outside, and the wind passed over the fire causing lengthy, distorting shadows. She let her eyes adjust to her surroundings. There appeared to be only three men about the fire, of which none were sparing a watchful eye over her. Rhoana stayed as still as able as she looked about cautiously for her belongings, mainly her bow and knives. She paid little heed to what the men discussed, perhaps foolishly, as a slow ache crept up the back of her neck to her head, residing there and turning into a dull thud. A sudden pang of pain shot through her shin, she bit her lip hard, remaining as silent as she could. She stayed motionless for a vast length of time; the pattering of rain had begun, as she assessed her situation. There were signs of crumbled walls amongst the grass, a ruin of sorts, though it provided little shelter. By the colour of the grass it would appear she was still in the lands of Bree, though it felt coarser upon skin. The flames of the fire crackled and spat as it retaliated against the drizzle. Two of the men had fallen into slumber, the other had hold of one of her knives. Not far from his footing was her bow. There was little in the way of timing for her, she had few options to take…one being to slip into the shadows un-noticed and attend to whatever injuries she had come under, the other; to find a way to retrieve her things, the only remnants of a past life and man. The rain had dimmed the fire, it still flickered but the shadows prevailed, as the struggle against flame and water ensued. Noticing that she now lay in darkness, Rhoana edged her way further to a wall; thankful of the rains strength as it pelted the stone loudly. She stood, the extent of the pain in her leg now outweighing the din in her mind. A break in the walls could be seen, but what lay beyond was still hidden. The moon was concealed amongst dense rain clouds; the only light was of the campfire; which was now failing. Rhoana crouched upon the damp grass and edged closer to the brigand, her breathing was sharp and tense. She fought against the pain and clouding of her judgements as best she was able and searched the floor for something of use. A stone, coarse and rough. She clenched it in her hands, and with each pained step, positioned herself far behind the man. He appeared oblivious, muttering to himself. The rock was held high in her hand as she broke into a sudden rush toward him, letting it land against his skull. Rhoana spared little time to see what had become of him, as he let out a muffled bark. She took up her bow and knives, and ran toward the darkness, the sound of shouts following rhythm to the thudding in her head and pounding in her chest. Running hard, she cursed under her quickened breath as she stumbled upon the grass, her leg just a weight and near useless. Picking herself up, she glanced behind her, little could be seen in the gloom and all that was heard were faint shouts. She ran further, each step more accursed then the latter, she cried out quietly in pain. The rain began to hit hard, her chest felt raw as her breathing became heavy. The night drove on and her scurry quickly became a mere stumbling across ground ‘till eventually she landed against the wet earth. Her hands pawed at the ground as she pushed herself further, till the dark closed around her eyes, and she could move no longer…