Larcei is about a quarter way through bending by the hip and reaching for the contents of her newly unearthed crate when Ronanโs cry splits the growing silence between them. Her eyesight makes for the treeline, and she can see it, too โ just at the hem of her periphery โ movement. Her idea of hiding only encourages her to de-lid the crate faster, but Ronan grabs her just as she flips up its lock. And though the Isaachian moves quick, she is quite light. A practiced archerโs arms have no trouble hoicking her away from her occupations, no trouble making her tumble off that block and struggle back to her feet just so she can catch up and not feel the discomfort of her limb at its maximal stretch.ย
โAh- ow! Hey- holdโโ she tries a million and one protests as a million and one briars poke into her leathery skin. None quite reach the villagerโs ears. She instead must wander through every branch and every bristle he drags her through, until the two have cover โ until their silhouettes are disguised by foliage.ย Larcei, by the end of things, bears splotches of dirt riding up her cheeks and twigs in her hair. Leaves protrude from various points of her outfit, complete with frayed bangs and a very cross look in her eyes. โYou idiot,โ she hisses, โwe couldโve hid in the boxes! Now how are we supposed to find out where theyโre takinโ this stuff?โ By trying one more time, apparently, which she made every motion to follow through with by breaking free of his grasp and crawling forwardโ
โonly for the gallop of hooves to enter her neighborhood. They were so close that she could hear the dirt beneath them skidding to a stop, and the steel buckles on boots clinking as the riders dismounted. She immediately cancelled her action. The swordie dropped flat to the floor, peering past the underside of her brush as best her eyes would allow but not daring to take another breath. Ronan might scry more information than her, but by the hasty count Larcei makes in the back of her head and on her fingers, there are at least a dozen other bodies. Suddenly the camp fills with noise too. They shuffle cargo around and attempt to calm their steeds as they whinny. They speak amongst themselves: sometimes in a common tongue, other times in a thievesโ cant Larcei canโt quite pick apart without a cipher.ย
โโstuffโs supposed to be hereโโ
โโmissing, bossโโ
โโmoved around, tooโโ
Snippets of their conversation reach Larceiโs ears, and from what she can parse, she slowly turns to Ronan with concern. The band of riders begin to spread. Their investigation leads them to performing an area-wide sweep of their camp, evidently roused by all the objects the pair (mostly Larcei) knocked around and the few effects they misplaced. They murmur about too many different topics to focus on one โ work, the weather, personal drama โ but one does mention a missing key as they stride dangerously close to their hiding spot. Larcei waits for the patrol to pass before slinking deeper back, sitting herself up making as little noise as she can, and rasping out another whisper,
โNot so sure theyโre gonna leave before they find us anymore.. Hope you packed extra arrows.โย
One of the bandits pries into the stack of crates she wanted to camp out in earlier, and watching it happen makes Larcei turn her body away from Ronan rather than admitting that he was right. But as she does so, a bush in front of her rustles. The shiver is tiny, near-imperceptible unless complete concentration could be held and, honestly, could have been mistaken for an animal. Larcei creeps forward anyways. She keeps low to the ground and patiently unsheathes a fifth of her gleaming blade. Any more and the steel sliding past her hilt would scratch a sharp sound through the air. She then stalls.ย
She waits and squints, stills and lazes, that laser-intensity in her ashen gaze honed enough to cut through its nettle but unwavering in the face of its rigidity. The seconds pass and they feel like minutes, and the staredown drags as though either party had been waiting for high noon. Then it happens. A disturbance. A branch flits as something moves past. Larcei dives headfirst for its general direction and disappears among the shrubbery. More, turbulent scurrying jostles the whole plant down to its roots, threatening to break at any moment. Then it stops. Then, out hops Larcei. She has her gloved hand clapped over the maw of a boy, no more than a few years younger than herself, and the sharp edge of her weapon indenting the skin on his neck. An errant flick of her hand, and she could take his life without as much as a cry.
But she beams. She has caught them leverage, like a hunting dog having brought back a fresh kill. She looks to Ronan expectantly, mirth alight in her eyes and her lips pulled from ear to ear โ humming the fanfare of her victory. โHah, check out what I caught! You think theyโll let us go if we hold this out and back away?โย
He really is just a boy, too. Dressed in raiment only barely finer than a linen shopping bag, he looks like the picture of poverty. Heโs shorter than Larcei, and his hair is shaggy & overgrown with mismanagement. The last time he took a bath could be anyoneโs guess, and aside from a tiny dagger sewn to his belt, he has nothing to defend himself with. Itโs no wonder that the seasoned freedom fighter was able to capture him so quickly.ย
But she pays no mind to any of this, instead offering a nod and the suggestion to put their hostage to use.