In the depths of the alley the shadows softened the scene. The walls looked less jagged, less pitted than they were. The cobbles appeared less hard and the slurry of washed away horse manure, amongst other nastier things, were less frightful to the eye. A shame it was that the shade could neither lessen the stench or soften the blows.
She stood there in the dim light, heavily armoured body bent from the waist. The haze was passing now, the anger slipping away, and from the corner of her single eye she found in herself a certain appreciation for the way the light caught the razor sharp metal ridges along the forearm of her gauntlet as she raised her arm.
She looked down at the prone body of the man, held up by the tight grip she had of his shirt front. Her lips twisted in a sneer, a soft growl escaping her throat as she brought her fist down to connect with his battered face. A satisfying crunch was both heard and felt from that one last blow and then she let him fall. She straightened, turned and with no further ado strode from the alley and out into Bree.
Some of the townsfolk stared at her as she passed but she shrugged it off. She had long since stopped caring about what other people thought of her. She did her job, did what she was supposed to do. She saved them, sacrificed herself for them, fought for them so that they might never have to fight for themselves and not one of them appreciated it. Few even believed there was a threat to their sleepy little criminal-ridden town, nevermind that war loomed on the horizon. Why should their opinions matter to her when they were so blind?
She flexed her hand, hearing the leather creak, feeling the sting of the bruises that were sure to come in short order. She would go home now to Eovad's empty house, sit in the dark with her hand in a bucket of cold water and spend another endless night waiting.
Across the road, in her old house, Micaiah would be sitting, but as much as she did not wish to be alone she would not go to him. She made him nervous now. She could see it in his eyes whenever he saw her, hear it in his voice. He called her mother, but she scared him. So rather than keep him company, rather than seek company for herself, she would sit in the cold and the dark and keep watch throughout the night.
A frustrated snarl sounded as she marched out through the South Gate. The man she had beaten tonight had proved useless. He did not know what she had needed to learn. He did not have the names or the faces of those responsible for her wrath. Just another useless criminal in a town full of them, another festering puss-filled bee in this hive of scum. Still, his treatment would send a message to the others. Word would get around soon enough and maybe, just maybe, they would come to her instead.
She welcomed that prospect. She wanted them to come. Those behind the muggings of the local teenagers would pay for their crimes one way or another, she would see to that. She was coming, she was not going to stop. They would see that soon if they did not already and it did not matter a whit to her if she had to go through every single person of a shady disposition to get to the ones she sought. They would learn. All of them. They would learn that hurting youngsters was not without consequence. They would learn never to lay their hands on her son.
