Sleeping, Murtagh thought was the only time of day he might not be disturbed. Hearing rustling nearby made him wake a little but he was too unawake to register it any more than an animal in the undergrowth. Unfortunately, he was wrong.
He heard a stifled scream and woke up to see Rachel being overpowered by a young man. He'd expect her on a normal day to be able to defend herself but normally she was awake and alert but it wasn't normal to be attacked in your sleep when no one's looking for you. It must have been someone looking for him.
As he hopped over the log and grabbed for his bow the man turned and saw him go. As he grabbed his bow and arrow the man turned out to be not alone. His friend came from behind him and held him down but because of his distraction Rachel was able to kick him in the groin and escape. Murtagh felt a small stab of pity for the kid: he had been on the receiving end of one of her kicks on his legs from training in sword and unarmed fighting her and it hurt- he didn't want to know what it felt like in that particular place.
She grabbed inside her boot and fished out a small dagger he had seen occasionally and held it in front of her. The young mad hesitated but then went for it and under estimated her. Within seconds she had the dagger to his throat and seemed to be very threatening, even though he knew she would never use it against him.
She looked up at the man he himself was in the power of. "Let go of him," she growled.
The other thief looked down at him. He scowled but let him go. Rachel let him go as well and walled away from them nearer to Murtagh. The men went back after her a few seconds after her. All he could do to protect her was grab his bow in front of him and shot two arrows into them killing them instantly.
Murtagh's jaw tightened instantly. He didn't know if she would be used to death or killing like he was. He turned to her but saw her turning to the river. He let her go: She would need time to get over the shock.
What was going on in her mind however was completely different. Murtagh had just shot two men. He had killed. With as much ease as killing for food, as if life didn't matter and she felt… something like a mix of sadness, revolt and above all else something like disappointment and upset that Murtagh was like that. She needed to get some water to refresh her and regain her senses.
Murtagh noticed that she'd been gone for ten minuets. He got anxious after fifteen. He got up and went to the river. She was there crouching down whilst splashing and drinking water out of her hands: her dark hair falling across her face; her eyes bright; her gentle posture yet aggressive weapon in her boot. He was slightly taken aback of how she looked a lot like what he remembered his mother to be- his father had given him a picture the time he had been upset as a small child and to calm him down the nurse maid had asked for a picture so he might feel better. Morzan had been very astounded and unimpressed by the idea but he agreed if it meant he didn't have to see the child and share found fuzzy fake memories of him with his son.
He walked on soft feet to her making enough sound for her not to be frightened but enough to know he was there. She looked up at him and looked back down as she straightened up. He noticed her uneasiness as she looked at him.
"What?" he asked. "What's the problem?"
By the way she stared at him, with abomination, he knew immediately that was the wrong thing to say. "What's the problem?" she exclaimed passionately. "I'll tell you what the problem is."