My Precious

The only warning Roana got was the sound of the knife being drawn from it’s sheath. But before she could turn, she felt the pressure of it’s tip pressing into her back. The former captain stilled, but did not panic. Years of training had prepared her for this sort of a situation. More importantly, she could not afford to be rash. She had three little boys waiting on her back home. They needed their mother in the absence of their father. Her hand tightened on the hilt of her claymore, where it had been resting while she walked. ”What sort of person pulls a knife on a single mother of three?” she said dryly, eyes forward. Filth. That was the sort of person. Moving would get her stabbed in the back if she wasn’t careful. ”I’ve nothing to give you so why don’t you go back the way you came and no one gets hurt?” she said, calm, cool, and collected as always. Wessex roana The soul that sees beauty may sometimes walk alone