“Persistant bastards…” the pale woman sighed.
“You have to go, now!” Migar whispered fiercly, pointing toward the approaching soldiers.
“And where, my tree-dwelling friend, will I be running to?”
“Just steal a horse and run, Mida!” The vir said, pulling her friend from behind the curtain.
“You still owe me a favor, Migar,” the warlock laughed, running toward the next wagon.
Cries went up from the soldiers, and the men began running toward the now-mounted woman as she fled into the forest.
“Fly safe,” the trader whispered, composing herself as an important-looking detachment of soldiers approached.
“You there, monkey,” a surly footman called, using the derogatory title for her race. The woman flinched at that, taking on a defenseless air.
“Y-yes?” she asked the larger being timidly.
“We’re going to search your wagon.”
“N-no, I can’t, my wares, you can’t…”
Another soldier approached.
“Don’t worry. We’ll just take a peek and be on our way,” the dark haired man said.
“Alright…”