Sophia led the small company out to the Wounded Coast at a gallop, her golden, braided hair gently bobbing behind her. The day was clear and calm, at least, the conditions good enough that a conversation with the woman accompanying her wouldn't be too difficult to have. It was a relatively straight road, so it wasn't as though she needed to put much effort into the riding until they reached the coast.
"I've had the guard looking over the refugee records, as you requested," Sophia informed her. "We had no luck finding either Arcadius Kassim or Silian Raunthil, I'm afraid. It's likely that if they came to Kirkwall, they used false names. However, you said one of them looks similar to Lucien. I suggested the guards keep an eye out for any man with that description, apart from the one residing in Lowtown, of course."
She slowed Aidan to a trot as they rounded a bend, before picking up speed again. The ground beneath the destrier's hooves was slowly shifting from dirt to sand. "Nothing turned up for a while, but recently they've reported sightings of a man with a similar appearance entering the northern edge of the woods outside Kirkwall." It was frustrating that the guard wasn't really in a position to do anything about it, but with Sparrow's help, Sophia could probably change that herself.
"The guard has been spread too thin combating the Coterie and keeping order in the city itself to be able to organize a force for clearing bandits out of the woods, but we've suspected they've had hideouts there for some time now. This only confirms that. If you want to head out that way and search for them sometime, I'd be happy to assist. If they're as dangerous as you say, I'm sure four hands would be better than two." She smiled lightly back at the half-elf.
The Wounded Coast was beautiful as ever. It seemed to be the only place untouched by progress, unwaveringly wild against everything that surrounded it and equally bountiful by feral-men who wished to absorb all of its ruthless, slack-shouldered freedoms. Whoever shirked their civilized lives in Kirkwall usually wound up somewhere on the beaches or in the darkest parts of the mountains. Living alongside whatever other creatures that called this place their home must of had its own allure, and one that she herself had felt – a siren's pull that captivated, enthralled and enticed. Few could deny it.
The ride itself was a lot quicker than Sparrow thought it would be, racing recklessly down dusty pathways and thorny underbrush. In the beginning of the journey, she'd attempted to somehow steady herself on the horse's rump, but to no avail, ended up wrapping her arms around Sophia's midsection. More out of fear that she'd tumble off and be trampled by all of the other trailing riders than anything else. She was grateful that she hadn't had to suffer the jarring ride by her lonesome. She nodded appreciatively, straining her ears. The clopping of hooves was louder than she'd ever imagined. Even still, Sparrow made a sound of surprise and replied, “Lucien lives in Lowtown? I hadn't, I wouldn't have thought. But, you're right. They'd be stupid to keep their own names.”
Didn't this render her search fruitless, unless one of her guards managed to bump into one of them? They were a dangerous lot doing who knows what in Kirkwall. Once a criminal, always a criminal. She didn't doubt for a second that they'd simply decided to live a quiet, peaceful life. They were her monstrous bogeyman, and they'd most likely strike again. Even if she was wrong and they'd suddenly taken the Chantry's robes to atone for what they'd done, she needed her own justifications to continue hunting them down. To terminate everything they'd done to her. Sparrow's eyes trailed the changing terrain. She listened intently, leaning forward when she needed to and retracting a few inches away when she felt she wouldn't slip off Sophia's spirited destrier.
“Apologies if I've been taking advantage of any men you need. Maker knows it's been hectic in Kirkwall.” Maker knows. Sparrow still wasn't sure why she ever used the name. She wasn't a follower of the Chantry, and hardly believed in any other religious entity. Far too young to take what her parents believed into consideration and far too stubborn to believed in anything other than shackless, unburdened wrists, she'd realized sooner rather than later that she was better off not getting her hopes up in anything. Sophia's uncomplicated offer to aid her in her task took her off-guard, but she laughed, tipping her head to the side like a colourful bird.
“Only a fool would refuse.”
"It's their job to track down dangerous criminals that threaten the city. Even if you want to bring them to justice for something they did to you personally, it would still be a boon to the city to remove the threat they pose." She slowed the party to a canter as they entered slightly narrower terrain. She turned back to one of the guardsmen. "This was our missing patrol's route, yes?"
Somehow, Sparrow was pleased that Sophia hadn't thought her objective as a petty, selfish vendetta. Too often she'd thought the same, wondering why she hadn't been able to forget it and move forward with her life. The Qun had taught her that holding old grudges was like dipping your hand into scalding water, indefinitely. It was an effortless choice, and one that they repeatedly managed to make. Her weaknesses were far greater than anything she'd been taught as a fledgeling. She'd been holding her hand in those particular waters for as long as she could remember.
"Yes, m'lady," one of them replied, his voice slightly muffled by the full face helmet. "The route leads off the left at the next crossroads." Sophia nodded. "Very well, let's find them then." She'd been curious about Sparrow's mention of the Maker, actually. Some elves had adopted the Chantry, certainly, but not a majority of them by any means. She wondered if her companion was merely using his name out of habit, and many often did, herself included. It was not always an indication of faith, but certainly Sophia would have welcomed it if Sparrow was Andrastian.
"And yes, Lucien lives in Lowtown. I believe he's able to do much more for the benefit of the people from there. It's a rather small place, but of course Lucien is nothing if not mod--" She was cut off when Aidan suddely reared up on his hind legs, startled. A ball of fire had flown in their direction, smashing against the rocks in front of them, just missing. Only through her trained control over her mount was Sophia able to bring him back down, and still it had been a challenge.
Modest-man, old chevalier, friend of Rilien and justice-bringer of Lowtown. All of those titles certainly fit Lucien. She did not presume to know him very well, but she'd asked Rilien enough questions to know men like him. They were the likes of guardians, valiantly saving the day, slaying dragons and sweeping damsels off their feet without wanting anything in return. Did men like that even exist? It was hard to believe. He still looked like someone she vehemently hated. Someone she had nightmares about. Lucien did not deserve her wariness, nor her obvious avoidance. It was all she could offer until she buried her attackers. Perhaps, then, she'd explain why she acted so strange around him. She opened her mouth to reply, but was interrupted when Aidan suddenly reared, driving a strangled yelp from her lips and forcing her to tighten her grip around Sophia.
"On foot!" Sophia commanded. "Find cover." She pulled her foot from the stirrup and swung it over Aidan's neck, a slightly awkward dismount, but she had to account for the possibility that Sparrow was still right behind her. She dropped down into the sand before giving Aidan a swift rap on his hind quarters, telling him to get to a clear distance. He led the other horses back up the way they'd come, out of the reach of danger.
The ball of fire exploded into a shower of sparks, hardly a couple of feet in front of them. Sparrow whipped around, trying to detect where it'd come from without slipping off Aiden's rump. Thankfully, Sophia managed to calm him down. She, too, dismounted as gracefully as she could. Once her feet touched the ground, Sparrow took a few staggering steps backwards, watching as the horse bolted to safety. Everyone, it seemed, had already dismounted, searching for their assailants. It was an ambush. Perhaps, to be expected. Arrows hissed overhead, slamming into the sand and sailing over her shoulders. Unfortunately, she'd decided not to wear her armour, riddled with its own set of enchantments. The only means of defence she had was to desperately pivot her body out of harms way, open palm conjuring brief spurts of arcane-energy to know the away.
Arrows began to tear through the air around them, one of which seeming to hit Sophia in the arm before being turned aside by Rilien's armor enchantment, the shot merely glancing instead. She drew her sword from her back and moved forward, staying low and pushing down to the low ground, where a group of guardsmen were taking cover behind a line of rocks high enough to defend them. Just as she arrived, one of them lifted his head high enough to get a view of their enemy, only to take an arrow through the visor for his trouble. Looking around, a few more had fallen to the arrows or the mage, but there were still five of them left, enough to make a fighting force now that Sophia had brought some help.
"It's Harley, isn't it?" Sophia asked of the one with the Lieutenant's gear. Her eyes widened in shock at seeing the backup. "Lady Sophia? The Maker himself must have sent you. This is a disaster here. My first 'routine' assignment."
"I wanted to lead the party personally when I heard a patrol had gone missing," Sophia said, "I'm glad we got here in time to be of use." She shook her head in frustration. "Bollocks... Bedden must not have made it back. But, you came anyway. Can't look back now. We're up against Evets Marauders."
It would do Sophia no good if she took an arrow just now. Being slain by wretched bandits in the Wounded Coast would be a pitiful end. Especially if she hadn't really accomplished anything yet. Watching Sophia hunker down, sword clasped in hand, Sparrow couldn't help think that she was a warrior worth following. Certainly, a leader worth looking up to. Precious few had the ability to command, lead, and inspire. She crouched lower, sidling to Sophia's right. The guardsmen looked a little worse for wear, like they'd been stuck behind the outcrop for awhile. Her mace had already found its way into her calloused fingers, curled tightly – a familiar companion, always ready for bloodletting. She did not know who Evets Marauders were, but still bobbed her head, listening.
There was a name Sophia recognized. "Are you certain?" She nodded. "Fell Orden's up there. And Viktor Longdeath's handiwork you've already seen. We tried two sorties up the path, but it's trapped to oblivion. Now I'd be thankful just to get out of here alive." A call came from up on the ridge behind them, the mage Fell Orden lobbing a taunt down at them. "No fair, guard dog. You've brought friends."
"Shut your mouth!" Harley shouted back. Sophia turned to Sparrow to better explain what they were up against. "This group's been robbing and raping for Maker knows how long now, based out of the forests. Fell Orden's the mage, but Viktor Longdeath is a deadeye shot with that longbow. One of them even took to calling herself Little Sophie. Think I made an impression on them."
“Cocky bastard,” She whispered, very nearly peeking over the large rock like the unfortunate guardsmen had. Several arrows spat down, clattering and shattering against their craggy shield. Suddenly, throttling that arrogant mage seemed like a good idea – and thankfully, there was only one to be seen. Robbing and raping. A muscle jumped in her jaw, which was now clenched. Molars grinding against adjacent molars. Then, they were exactly like them. People that were more or less like slime, puddles of mud, writhing worm-sacks. They deserved no mercy. “Disgusting. We have to make sure this is the last of all that,” Sparrow rasped, eyeing her steadily. The look disintegrated. “You should have told them that you prefer Sophia.”
Harley banged her sword against her shield to get the blood pumping, ready for a fight. "With you here now, I think we can take them. I'm with you... but the men might be too rattled to join us. We've been trapped here for hours." Sophia looked to them, and though she couldn't see their faces behind their helmets, their body language spoke volumes. They thought they were going to die here. She wondered how many of them had gone up against a mage before. She herself hadn't either, but after fighting a dragon, a little fireball didn't seem so ominous. Perhaps she could still give them some hope.
"Listen to me," she said, at the very least getting their attention. They certainly weren't going to ignore the daughter of the Viscount. "Our enemies today are just men, made of flesh and blood, just like us. Men that would take advantage of your fear to pick you off one by one. But together, we can make them know fear, when they see us move as one to storm their position, with courage in our hearts and fire in our eyes. They will be powerless to stop us when their one weapon, fear, is taken away from them. Show them what strength the noble men and women of Kirkwall still have in them. On me!"
"You'll make a brilliant leader someday, my lady," Harley said, smiling despite the situation. "Let's go wipe these bastards out!" They rose as one with shields up and swords drawn, charging out to attack the marauders' position.
This warrior-woman would lead Kirkwall places, she was sure. Harley had said it well enough. Sparrow only grinned, surveying the visored-faces once more. They seemed rejuvenated by the speech. The heavy blanket of impending death had been ripped off and replaced with hope. Sparrow, too, rose alongside the guardsmen, brandishing her mace. Never had she feared death. It rode beside her like a shadow, promising the end of all things. If she died here, or anywhere else, then so be it. Perhaps that, most of all, had been ingrained into her. So it shall be, meravas. With the flush of battle creasing across her cheeks, it's easier to tell that her eyes were encircled with dark, tired coils. Something else seemed off. Her eyes shun brilliantly, several shades lighter than they usually were – she was Sparrow, but she was not. She was Rapture, but she was not. Sometimes, as of recent, they seemed to bleed together in times of duress.
Sparrow was already lurching down one of the pathways with a couple guardsmen, crying out something indecipherable. Her free hand flicked down to her waist, procuring a thin little knife between her fingertips and snapping it forward, like Rilien had shown her, into one of the traps, successfully clamping it shut like the jaws of a great metal-beast. She continued waving her hands in front of her, deflecting arrows in sweeps of brilliant blue while she barrelled forward. For years, she'd trained herself using maces and learned how to deal with things without magic. It was painful for her to learn. Magic was everything – she breathed it, it soared from her like caged birds being released. In battle, Sparrow was reckless. She did not think of who was in her company, nor did it occur to her what Sophia might think. They were friends, were they not? Friends accepted. Friends understood. Finally, Sparrow's mace drew backwards, slamming into the shoulder of a man knocking an arrow.
"I've had the guard looking over the refugee records, as you requested," Sophia informed her. "We had no luck finding either Arcadius Kassim or Silian Raunthil, I'm afraid. It's likely that if they came to Kirkwall, they used false names. However, you said one of them looks similar to Lucien. I suggested the guards keep an eye out for any man with that description, apart from the one residing in Lowtown, of course."
She slowed Aidan to a trot as they rounded a bend, before picking up speed again. The ground beneath the destrier's hooves was slowly shifting from dirt to sand. "Nothing turned up for a while, but recently they've reported sightings of a man with a similar appearance entering the northern edge of the woods outside Kirkwall." It was frustrating that the guard wasn't really in a position to do anything about it, but with Sparrow's help, Sophia could probably change that herself.
"The guard has been spread too thin combating the Coterie and keeping order in the city itself to be able to organize a force for clearing bandits out of the woods, but we've suspected they've had hideouts there for some time now. This only confirms that. If you want to head out that way and search for them sometime, I'd be happy to assist. If they're as dangerous as you say, I'm sure four hands would be better than two." She smiled lightly back at the half-elf.
The Wounded Coast was beautiful as ever. It seemed to be the only place untouched by progress, unwaveringly wild against everything that surrounded it and equally bountiful by feral-men who wished to absorb all of its ruthless, slack-shouldered freedoms. Whoever shirked their civilized lives in Kirkwall usually wound up somewhere on the beaches or in the darkest parts of the mountains. Living alongside whatever other creatures that called this place their home must of had its own allure, and one that she herself had felt – a siren's pull that captivated, enthralled and enticed. Few could deny it.
The ride itself was a lot quicker than Sparrow thought it would be, racing recklessly down dusty pathways and thorny underbrush. In the beginning of the journey, she'd attempted to somehow steady herself on the horse's rump, but to no avail, ended up wrapping her arms around Sophia's midsection. More out of fear that she'd tumble off and be trampled by all of the other trailing riders than anything else. She was grateful that she hadn't had to suffer the jarring ride by her lonesome. She nodded appreciatively, straining her ears. The clopping of hooves was louder than she'd ever imagined. Even still, Sparrow made a sound of surprise and replied, “Lucien lives in Lowtown? I hadn't, I wouldn't have thought. But, you're right. They'd be stupid to keep their own names.”
Didn't this render her search fruitless, unless one of her guards managed to bump into one of them? They were a dangerous lot doing who knows what in Kirkwall. Once a criminal, always a criminal. She didn't doubt for a second that they'd simply decided to live a quiet, peaceful life. They were her monstrous bogeyman, and they'd most likely strike again. Even if she was wrong and they'd suddenly taken the Chantry's robes to atone for what they'd done, she needed her own justifications to continue hunting them down. To terminate everything they'd done to her. Sparrow's eyes trailed the changing terrain. She listened intently, leaning forward when she needed to and retracting a few inches away when she felt she wouldn't slip off Sophia's spirited destrier.
“Apologies if I've been taking advantage of any men you need. Maker knows it's been hectic in Kirkwall.” Maker knows. Sparrow still wasn't sure why she ever used the name. She wasn't a follower of the Chantry, and hardly believed in any other religious entity. Far too young to take what her parents believed into consideration and far too stubborn to believed in anything other than shackless, unburdened wrists, she'd realized sooner rather than later that she was better off not getting her hopes up in anything. Sophia's uncomplicated offer to aid her in her task took her off-guard, but she laughed, tipping her head to the side like a colourful bird.
“Only a fool would refuse.”
"It's their job to track down dangerous criminals that threaten the city. Even if you want to bring them to justice for something they did to you personally, it would still be a boon to the city to remove the threat they pose." She slowed the party to a canter as they entered slightly narrower terrain. She turned back to one of the guardsmen. "This was our missing patrol's route, yes?"
Somehow, Sparrow was pleased that Sophia hadn't thought her objective as a petty, selfish vendetta. Too often she'd thought the same, wondering why she hadn't been able to forget it and move forward with her life. The Qun had taught her that holding old grudges was like dipping your hand into scalding water, indefinitely. It was an effortless choice, and one that they repeatedly managed to make. Her weaknesses were far greater than anything she'd been taught as a fledgeling. She'd been holding her hand in those particular waters for as long as she could remember.
"Yes, m'lady," one of them replied, his voice slightly muffled by the full face helmet. "The route leads off the left at the next crossroads." Sophia nodded. "Very well, let's find them then." She'd been curious about Sparrow's mention of the Maker, actually. Some elves had adopted the Chantry, certainly, but not a majority of them by any means. She wondered if her companion was merely using his name out of habit, and many often did, herself included. It was not always an indication of faith, but certainly Sophia would have welcomed it if Sparrow was Andrastian.
"And yes, Lucien lives in Lowtown. I believe he's able to do much more for the benefit of the people from there. It's a rather small place, but of course Lucien is nothing if not mod--" She was cut off when Aidan suddely reared up on his hind legs, startled. A ball of fire had flown in their direction, smashing against the rocks in front of them, just missing. Only through her trained control over her mount was Sophia able to bring him back down, and still it had been a challenge.
Modest-man, old chevalier, friend of Rilien and justice-bringer of Lowtown. All of those titles certainly fit Lucien. She did not presume to know him very well, but she'd asked Rilien enough questions to know men like him. They were the likes of guardians, valiantly saving the day, slaying dragons and sweeping damsels off their feet without wanting anything in return. Did men like that even exist? It was hard to believe. He still looked like someone she vehemently hated. Someone she had nightmares about. Lucien did not deserve her wariness, nor her obvious avoidance. It was all she could offer until she buried her attackers. Perhaps, then, she'd explain why she acted so strange around him. She opened her mouth to reply, but was interrupted when Aidan suddenly reared, driving a strangled yelp from her lips and forcing her to tighten her grip around Sophia.
"On foot!" Sophia commanded. "Find cover." She pulled her foot from the stirrup and swung it over Aidan's neck, a slightly awkward dismount, but she had to account for the possibility that Sparrow was still right behind her. She dropped down into the sand before giving Aidan a swift rap on his hind quarters, telling him to get to a clear distance. He led the other horses back up the way they'd come, out of the reach of danger.
The ball of fire exploded into a shower of sparks, hardly a couple of feet in front of them. Sparrow whipped around, trying to detect where it'd come from without slipping off Aiden's rump. Thankfully, Sophia managed to calm him down. She, too, dismounted as gracefully as she could. Once her feet touched the ground, Sparrow took a few staggering steps backwards, watching as the horse bolted to safety. Everyone, it seemed, had already dismounted, searching for their assailants. It was an ambush. Perhaps, to be expected. Arrows hissed overhead, slamming into the sand and sailing over her shoulders. Unfortunately, she'd decided not to wear her armour, riddled with its own set of enchantments. The only means of defence she had was to desperately pivot her body out of harms way, open palm conjuring brief spurts of arcane-energy to know the away.
Arrows began to tear through the air around them, one of which seeming to hit Sophia in the arm before being turned aside by Rilien's armor enchantment, the shot merely glancing instead. She drew her sword from her back and moved forward, staying low and pushing down to the low ground, where a group of guardsmen were taking cover behind a line of rocks high enough to defend them. Just as she arrived, one of them lifted his head high enough to get a view of their enemy, only to take an arrow through the visor for his trouble. Looking around, a few more had fallen to the arrows or the mage, but there were still five of them left, enough to make a fighting force now that Sophia had brought some help.
"It's Harley, isn't it?" Sophia asked of the one with the Lieutenant's gear. Her eyes widened in shock at seeing the backup. "Lady Sophia? The Maker himself must have sent you. This is a disaster here. My first 'routine' assignment."
"I wanted to lead the party personally when I heard a patrol had gone missing," Sophia said, "I'm glad we got here in time to be of use." She shook her head in frustration. "Bollocks... Bedden must not have made it back. But, you came anyway. Can't look back now. We're up against Evets Marauders."
It would do Sophia no good if she took an arrow just now. Being slain by wretched bandits in the Wounded Coast would be a pitiful end. Especially if she hadn't really accomplished anything yet. Watching Sophia hunker down, sword clasped in hand, Sparrow couldn't help think that she was a warrior worth following. Certainly, a leader worth looking up to. Precious few had the ability to command, lead, and inspire. She crouched lower, sidling to Sophia's right. The guardsmen looked a little worse for wear, like they'd been stuck behind the outcrop for awhile. Her mace had already found its way into her calloused fingers, curled tightly – a familiar companion, always ready for bloodletting. She did not know who Evets Marauders were, but still bobbed her head, listening.
There was a name Sophia recognized. "Are you certain?" She nodded. "Fell Orden's up there. And Viktor Longdeath's handiwork you've already seen. We tried two sorties up the path, but it's trapped to oblivion. Now I'd be thankful just to get out of here alive." A call came from up on the ridge behind them, the mage Fell Orden lobbing a taunt down at them. "No fair, guard dog. You've brought friends."
"Shut your mouth!" Harley shouted back. Sophia turned to Sparrow to better explain what they were up against. "This group's been robbing and raping for Maker knows how long now, based out of the forests. Fell Orden's the mage, but Viktor Longdeath is a deadeye shot with that longbow. One of them even took to calling herself Little Sophie. Think I made an impression on them."
“Cocky bastard,” She whispered, very nearly peeking over the large rock like the unfortunate guardsmen had. Several arrows spat down, clattering and shattering against their craggy shield. Suddenly, throttling that arrogant mage seemed like a good idea – and thankfully, there was only one to be seen. Robbing and raping. A muscle jumped in her jaw, which was now clenched. Molars grinding against adjacent molars. Then, they were exactly like them. People that were more or less like slime, puddles of mud, writhing worm-sacks. They deserved no mercy. “Disgusting. We have to make sure this is the last of all that,” Sparrow rasped, eyeing her steadily. The look disintegrated. “You should have told them that you prefer Sophia.”
Harley banged her sword against her shield to get the blood pumping, ready for a fight. "With you here now, I think we can take them. I'm with you... but the men might be too rattled to join us. We've been trapped here for hours." Sophia looked to them, and though she couldn't see their faces behind their helmets, their body language spoke volumes. They thought they were going to die here. She wondered how many of them had gone up against a mage before. She herself hadn't either, but after fighting a dragon, a little fireball didn't seem so ominous. Perhaps she could still give them some hope.
"Listen to me," she said, at the very least getting their attention. They certainly weren't going to ignore the daughter of the Viscount. "Our enemies today are just men, made of flesh and blood, just like us. Men that would take advantage of your fear to pick you off one by one. But together, we can make them know fear, when they see us move as one to storm their position, with courage in our hearts and fire in our eyes. They will be powerless to stop us when their one weapon, fear, is taken away from them. Show them what strength the noble men and women of Kirkwall still have in them. On me!"
"You'll make a brilliant leader someday, my lady," Harley said, smiling despite the situation. "Let's go wipe these bastards out!" They rose as one with shields up and swords drawn, charging out to attack the marauders' position.
This warrior-woman would lead Kirkwall places, she was sure. Harley had said it well enough. Sparrow only grinned, surveying the visored-faces once more. They seemed rejuvenated by the speech. The heavy blanket of impending death had been ripped off and replaced with hope. Sparrow, too, rose alongside the guardsmen, brandishing her mace. Never had she feared death. It rode beside her like a shadow, promising the end of all things. If she died here, or anywhere else, then so be it. Perhaps that, most of all, had been ingrained into her. So it shall be, meravas. With the flush of battle creasing across her cheeks, it's easier to tell that her eyes were encircled with dark, tired coils. Something else seemed off. Her eyes shun brilliantly, several shades lighter than they usually were – she was Sparrow, but she was not. She was Rapture, but she was not. Sometimes, as of recent, they seemed to bleed together in times of duress.
Sparrow was already lurching down one of the pathways with a couple guardsmen, crying out something indecipherable. Her free hand flicked down to her waist, procuring a thin little knife between her fingertips and snapping it forward, like Rilien had shown her, into one of the traps, successfully clamping it shut like the jaws of a great metal-beast. She continued waving her hands in front of her, deflecting arrows in sweeps of brilliant blue while she barrelled forward. For years, she'd trained herself using maces and learned how to deal with things without magic. It was painful for her to learn. Magic was everything – she breathed it, it soared from her like caged birds being released. In battle, Sparrow was reckless. She did not think of who was in her company, nor did it occur to her what Sophia might think. They were friends, were they not? Friends accepted. Friends understood. Finally, Sparrow's mace drew backwards, slamming into the shoulder of a man knocking an arrow.