Hawke swore. She was good at swearing. She spent a lot of time in the docks, after all, and sailors are known for their colorful language. Not that her Uncle Gamlen was one for abstaining from naughty words, but the sailors knew more of them and put them together in much more satisfying ways.
Things hadn't gone quite the way she'd planned. Getting into the place where the ox-men lived was not that difficult. It involved a lot of climbing, but Hawke was good at climbing. And there was no shortage of crates and chests inside. She'd found a box of apples, and not one of them looked a bit rotten. But she hadn't found anything like treasure. Food and clothes, yes. Tools, stored neatly on racks. Everyday sorts of things, nicer than most of the shops in Lowtown, but still just normal, boring items.
And then one of the ox-men had seen her.
He'd shouted something that she hadn't understood, but hadn't needed to. No matter what the words actually were, what they meant was trouble.
Perhaps worse than trouble. The gigantic horned creature was firmly between Hawke and the way out.
If there was one thing Hawke was sure of, it was that people who were bigger than you hit harder than you. Based on the size difference, she was positive that the ox-men could squash her like one of the ubiquitous Lowtown beetles. Fast as a wink, she'd dropped to her hands and knees and ducked under a trestle table.
Other ox-men responded to the first one's call. Tree-trunk sized legs advanced on the table.
Hawke heard the same two words repeated several times as the ox-men called to each other. One of the words, "basra", she recognized - the ox-men guarding the gate used it all the time. The other word was unfamiliar - "imekari".
Hawke hoped that it didn't mean "dinner".
A huge, horned head appeared as one of the ox-men squatted down to peer under the table. "Come here, imekari," he'd rumbled at her, motioning for her to approach him.
"No," she'd answered, making a rude gesture with one hand.
The ox-man grunted, and with surprising swiftness, reached under the table to grab her and pull her out.
She bit him. Hard.
The ox-man had recoiled, and Hawke had crawled the length of the table to the far end, where a pair of legs blocked her exit. She grabbed one calf and sank her teeth into the leather covering it. The calf's owner gave a muffled exclamation and stepped away, dragging a still-attached Hawke with him.
Hawke let go and scrambled for the nearest stack of crates, bounding up them like an enraged squirrel.
And so it had gone, with the ox-men prodding at her while she perched on stacks of crates or hid behind boxes, until they would finally flush her from one spot and she'd run for the next. She'd attack any body part that came within her reach, knocked crates and tool racks over to tangle in the ox-men's feet, and even managed to bounce a pair of sandals she'd found off of two angry, horned heads.
Now they were using the butt end of spears to poke at her. Tiny teeth and claw marks adorned more than a few of the ox-men, and none of them appeared to wish risking more. Hawke backed deeper into the little cubbyhole, her swearing coming to an end while she paused for breath. She was sweaty, and filthy, and spattered with the odd bit of blood - most of it not hers - and she was getting tired. But she still hadn't found a clear way out. Every time she thought she did, it would suddenly be blocked by a looming giant with outstretched arms.
There was sudden silence below. Hawke risked a glance out of her secure niche high up on a wall, and found herself staring at the biggest ox-man she'd ever seen. He was huge, and he wore bright red armor on his upper body.
The other ox-men had drawn back respectfully. The massive creature crossed his arms and looked up at Hawke, his face expressionless.
Hawke glared down at him defiantly.
He raised an eyebrow.
She screwed up her face the way she used to at Carver and Bethany when the twins were getting on her nerves, and stuck out her tongue.
He stepped closer to her nook, and reached up.
He was wearing armored gauntlets. There was nothing to bite. Nothing to scratch. Hawke squeezed against the back wall of the niche, and tried kicking the gigantic hands away.
There was a grunt from below, but one of the hands grasped her ankle.
Hawke bit her lip to keep from squeaking, and tried desperately to pry the gauntleted fingers away from her skin.
With a jerk, she was pulled from the niche to dangle upside down in the red-armored ox-man's grip.
"Let me go, you stupid cow!" Hawke flailed her free leg, trying without success to connect her heel with an unarmored body part.
"Parshaara, imekari," he growled at her.
-ooo-
The Arishok watched impassively as the child struggled in his grasp. Despite her precarious position and the futility of the action, the little one still attempted to fight.
"The basra thief is dangerously wild," murmured one of the sten. "Kata?"
"No. This one will submit to the Qun," the Arishok replied. He grunted as a heel rammed into his forearm.
A faint smile flickered across his face. "She is worthy, this imekari," he said. "Small, but fierce."