Despite the burden thrust upon her, she is quick enough to keep pace with him. This means she gets the full force of his look. It is a look of horror, and he grips at his hair with both hands, as if to keep it affixed to his head.
"You can't. And anyways," he adds, in a tone suddenly far more normal and far less terrified, "he hasn't got an arrow, or a bow. You will not be shot."
Behind them comes a bellow of rage, as their pursuer comes around the corner only to find Scipio--and Araceli, and the stolen property--already halfway down the street. He is a big man, and an angry man, with fists the size of cured hams.
"Perhaps torn apart," Scipio says, fairly, as the man shouts again.
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Despite the burden thrust upon her, she is quick enough to keep pace with him. This means she gets the full force of his look. It is a look of horror, and he grips at his hair with both hands, as if to keep it affixed to his head.
"You can't. And anyways," he adds, in a tone suddenly far more normal and far less terrified, "he hasn't got an arrow, or a bow. You will not be shot."
Behind them comes a bellow of rage, as their pursuer comes around the corner only to find Scipio--and Araceli, and the stolen property--already halfway down the street. He is a big man, and an angry man, with fists the size of cured hams.
"Perhaps torn apart," Scipio says, fairly, as the man shouts again.