"I knew you'd be back," She doesn't even look up at the sound of entry. Her gentle words are proposed with teasing confidence but met by no answer other than ungainly footsteps stumbling, falling closer. Only then does the woman survey the expanse of her modest homestead, her needlework forgotten, on her lap. She turns her head, secure in her guess of who's come calling, and her hazel eyes widen with a terror well deserved, as she takes in the sight of a surprise. Her lips fall apart but no recognisable sound escapes them as she seeks to rise from her seat. The blade at her throat soon stops her. He is not who she expected ...
A stranger. A grin. Spreading across his rogueish features like a plague. Eyes sparkle; dark coals beneath the shadows cast. The cowl of a hooded cloak. Untoward intentions written all over his face. One single demand does he make, and yet denied; she reveals not where be her absent lover.The fury in his comprehension shakes the calm composure that he wears, and taking in her terror at his sudden loss of control thus, an overly-extended surge of power and strength inspire him to lean close and break his open hand against her cheek, indignant. She hits the floor, a crumpled heap, and cowers as he remembers his weapon. He laughs. One mere and meagre arm is raised up in feeble defense of her life. Insignificant: so he believes. His knife slides easily through the limp woman's flesh, a flash of cold steel disappearing into the folds of a simple dun coloured dress. Retrieving the stained tool then, silently he regards his grim work, an end and a beginning both. The one marking the other.