Thrust, slash, slash, thrust, repeat. A tedious routine, as he had assured her. She did not expect any less.
Runs around camp, some errands for Adso's men. carrying supplies to and fro, negotiating with debtors... Truly, that hobbit had too many foes, and far too much debt.
Her sword was blunt, to her own favour, as she challenged the thieves - thrust, slash. Minimal blood was drawn, but her message was clear.
Hardened gaze was disillusioned, yet free from despair. She knew Bree was not all sunshine before, but complacency draws a blinding curtain on reason.
Muscles ached, brow glistened, yet her determined air remained. Pushing further, hoping to break through. Only a week till judgement, and lost time could not be recovered.
