Thud. Thud. Thud. Time and again, the sound came in bursts of three from somewhere in the shadows of the Bree prison, in the area where the training dummies were kept.
Thud. Thud. Thud. Each time the vicious-looking axe hit home, the dull sound of metal upon leather-enforced wood filled the area.
Thud. Thud. Thud. Overhead to the right, overhead to the left, a clean cleave right through the middle.
A polite cough meant the end of the rhythmic droning of one-sided battle. One of the guards had carefully approached the wielder of the axe, a Woman who seemed somewhere in the middle, if not North of her twenties. In the dim light of the prison’s torches, coupled with the light of the moon breaking through the barred windows, beads of sweat illuminated her forehead. A few strands of rebellious dark hair clung to her forehead, giving her an almost feral composure. She turned on her heel at the sound of the cough, causing the poor young guard to take a step back. He didn’t mean to, but the sight of the Woman, her honed skill with the axe, and the way she looked involuntarily startled him.
The Woman cocked her right eyebrow in a quizzical manner.
“Miss Erinwyn… I’m sorry for disturbing you, but it is nearing the midst of night.” The young guard noted, apologetically, fumbling a little with his mail sleeves.
As the Woman addressed as Erinwyn studied him, she couldn’t help but smile a little inwardly, it was uncertain what exactly caused the discomfort. The fact she was a Woman, out of the kitchen or away from tailoring duties. A Woman not wearing a dress, but leather armour instead. Or a Woman who seemed at ease in the barracks, handling an axe with better proficiency than most Men he had witnessed using the same weapon. She offered a singular nod. “Thank you, Taylor.” She replied and smoothly hooked the axe, lovingly named Bertha, back onto ‘her’ place at Erinwyn’s belt.
“The prisoners have been complaining…” The young Man said, as if trying to find a find a topic of conversation, likely uncomfortable given the situation, indeed, his cheeks showed a faint blush which only deepened in colour when he became aware of it. “The noise, you see… The Captain says it’s good, though, you know, depriving them of sleep might help get them to talk…” He added, despite himself.
Erinwyn’s brow furrowed a little, a faint shiver traveling down along the length of her spine. “I’m sure he does… I need to get going, Taylor. Tell the Captain I’m grateful that he allowed me to practice. I’ll buy him a drink one of these days at the Pony.” She retorted, knowing full well that she avoided the tavern like the plague whenever the Captain was rumoured to be there, or head there. The Man seemed to have a thing for her, and was also one of the most notoriously irritating drunks the town of Bree held within its rudimentary walls.
The young Man known as Taylor gave a salute. Erinwyn bothered only half-heartedly, bringing the index-finger and middle-finger of her right hand to the right side of her head, as she made her way to the exit. Something was troubling her mind.
For some strange reason, the shadows seemed friendlier of late. Sure enough, she had rarely felt fear, walking through the streets of Bree on her own after dark, but since her knowledge about the young Man named Seaver, any hostility she might have felt from those uninviting shadows was gone. She knew the worst that could lurk there. Him. The memory of what he had told her, still rung fresh through her mind, in fact, there was rarely a moment of late in which she didn’t contemplate it. He had seemed so bewildered over the fact she would not go to the authorities on what she knew. In fact, he himself appeared eager to end his own life, but she stopped him, much to the young Man’s own, alcohol-induced surprise.
Why? She had not had qualms with reporting criminals to authorities before. Quite the opposite. In her days with the Northwind Free Company, she had assisted in bringing them in. What made this Man different? It was a question that nagged at her, constantly, and so too on her way back to the homesteads. It was a distraction. Had she still been part of a military unit, she wouldn’t have thought twice about reporting him. Was life as a civilian making her soft?
With a huff at the world at large, she quickened her step, hoping that vigorous physical exercise would prevent yet another sleepless night on the subject.
