Book2
Driving rain lashed down out of the unseasonably gloomy sky. It seemed that the weather had been bad for weeks. At least for the past three of them. She had been traveling hard for the past eighteen days, making good time, but her horse had died just that past morning, leaving her stranded some ten leagues from the port of Girasol. She had continued, on foot, making slow progress throughout the day, and wanted to find a place to stop, possibly to wait out the storm. The problem was that the plateau that had killed her horse was still stretched out in front of her, a flat stretch of land unrelieved plain, now rain flattened grass, narrow, but the sides were impassable, and there were no possible places to stop and take shelter. She would simply have to cross it.
At least the wind was at her back, blowing the rain away from her face, the constant drumming of small drops against her sodden cloak was certainly not pleasant, but it was infinitely better than the same sensation would be on her face. However, from time to time, she could not prevent herself from turning her head, glancing over her shoulder, anxious to see if she were being pursued. While she had been on horseback, she had been more confident, and made excellent time, perhaps contributing to the death of her mount, but now that she was on foot, despite the lead she had gained she was getting more paranoid by the minute. She turned, her face immediately drenched by the downpour.
Eyes stinging she turned to face forward again, wiping her face ineffectually with the edge of her cloak. Then, using her hands to shield her eyes, she turned again. And froze in agony. Through the driving rain a figure was approaching very close already, as they had been nearly invisible through the storm. Swallowing, she put her towards her belt and gripped the hilt of her sword, flexing and tightening her fingers repeatedly. on the cold, rain slicked metal. Slowly the shape came through the rain, about ten paces away she saw a man, his blue cloak being blown about, his hair blowing and sodden concealing his face.
"Vous pensez que votre embrasse peut me tuer, alors, me tuez!"
Her heart jumped. "Hannibal?"
The man approached until they were merely a couple of arms' lengths apart.
"A moins il a mort heureux. Vous ne mouriez pas...heureuse." The Marquis said, clearing his dripping hair from his face with his left hand, drawing his sword with the other. She took a step back, raising her hand beseechingly.
"Attends! Donne-moi la chance de vive sans le vengeance."
"En parle con toi, je perds la patience et ton crimes sur l'esprit doive etre recomponser. Je vais te tuer!"
Swords crossed
At least the wind was at her back, blowing the rain away from her face, the constant drumming of small drops against her sodden cloak was certainly not pleasant, but it was infinitely better than the same sensation would be on her face. However, from time to time, she could not prevent herself from turning her head, glancing over her shoulder, anxious to see if she were being pursued. While she had been on horseback, she had been more confident, and made excellent time, perhaps contributing to the death of her mount, but now that she was on foot, despite the lead she had gained she was getting more paranoid by the minute. She turned, her face immediately drenched by the downpour.
Eyes stinging she turned to face forward again, wiping her face ineffectually with the edge of her cloak. Then, using her hands to shield her eyes, she turned again. And froze in agony. Through the driving rain a figure was approaching very close already, as they had been nearly invisible through the storm. Swallowing, she put her towards her belt and gripped the hilt of her sword, flexing and tightening her fingers repeatedly. on the cold, rain slicked metal. Slowly the shape came through the rain, about ten paces away she saw a man, his blue cloak being blown about, his hair blowing and sodden concealing his face.
"Vous pensez que votre embrasse peut me tuer, alors, me tuez!"
Her heart jumped. "Hannibal?"
The man approached until they were merely a couple of arms' lengths apart.
"A moins il a mort heureux. Vous ne mouriez pas...heureuse." The Marquis said, clearing his dripping hair from his face with his left hand, drawing his sword with the other. She took a step back, raising her hand beseechingly.
"Attends! Donne-moi la chance de vive sans le vengeance."
"En parle con toi, je perds la patience et ton crimes sur l'esprit doive etre recomponser. Je vais te tuer!"
Swords crossed