The gash on her cheek smarted, as did her swollen lip, but Fera had held her own. The cold drove people to desperate measures, and while she wanted to believe that the brutish man who had laid his fists into her had only done so out of desperation, it had not stayed her hand from retaliating. She was no waif to be knocked down without a fight, nor did she fear rising to her feet again to defend herself against a man twice her size. She had seen the frantic look in his eyes, and it had unnerved her. It was a look borne from a hope rekindled; a hope that was now within reach yet could so easily slip away, and that made him dangerous.
Tracing her fingertips over her swollen lip, Fera flinched as she came into contact with where it had split. "Son of a-" She pulled her fingers away, angry at herself for being a victim, but angrier still at the man who had made her one. His ham-like fists had delivered blows that thankfully missed more often than they had made contact. Hunger and cold had made him reckless and clumsy, and she was thankful for that much. She had been lighter, more agile, and while he snatched and clawed for her coin purse between the punches he threw, he had failed to catch hold. It was not long before her ruddy faced assailant was left winded from the struggle, and though her head felt thick and her jaw ached, Fera had seized on the opportunity. Fumbling to her hands and knees, she had scrambled towards the nearby oak, beneath which her pack rested. If she could reach it before she was set upon again, she might stand a better chance.
His hoarse voice bellowed behind her, curses and anger as his nose dripped blood. Let no man say that she had not learnt the importance of a mean right hook in a scuffle. Her brother had taught her that lesson well. She grabbed for the iron skillet that now hung within reach, clamping her hand about the handle as lumbering footsteps drew closer from behind. Swinging about with all her might, the skillet swooped in a large arc behind her, the jolt that shook her arm seconds later told her that it had found its target. A pained grunt escaped the man's lips before he crumpled and fell to the ground with a meaty thud. The rhythmic beat of her pulse racing in her ears slowly subsided as she quickly gathered her belongings and abandoned her makeshift camp.
Trudging along the path toward Bree, the brisk air bracing on her swollen lip, she noted how the snow had not fallen quite so thick here. Churned up by the wheels of passing carts, the white banks were now soiled with muck, grit and stones. So close to home, yet Fera had not returned without incident. It would not be long now until she was off of the open road, and back amongst the familiarity of those cobbled streets, once again.
