The border of dawn broke gently against the edge of her blade, her tight grip causing it to caress the light, rather than cut it. Nora’s countenance was far more serious than she liked, causing far more damage to the morning star than her trusted sword. What has to be done…Nora reminded herself, not completing the notion she had barraged herself with throughout the night.
She strode down the hill from her makeshift encampment with ease. For what small amount of rest the night had deigned her worthy, her body’s movements remained true. If she was to be a knight, it would have to take more than unpleasant slumber to slow her practiced muscles. Today she would prove herself.
It would not be pleasant.
Increasing her pace, she saw the outline of his hiding place. A ramshackle farmhouse, far and away from the constant use it once knew.
Beron knew how to fight. He did not know how to hide. This would be his downfall.
Around the house lay telling signs of temporary stay; freshly gathered pile of wood, sifted-through tools and bags. Not much useful, most likely. No food at least. Perhaps a tool he could use eventually, were he to rest here longer than a week. Shame he couldn’t have simply run off back when there were inhabitants to rob. Nora spit.
How to proceed? Would he be sleeping in? Or would he know that it would be her coming after him? Others may have given him ample time to rest and run. They would not be so red in the stomach over what he had done; merely a student gone criminal, to be caught as time permitted. He might believe it too personal a job for her to undertake.
Nora found herself unable to care about what he might think.
As the sun continued to climb the horizon, the shade of her blade’s edge changed accordingly.
Orange, to crimson.