This was very peculiar. Ash was not a talkative man by nature. Yet even he was starting to become aware of the extended silence, with nothing but the saw and the noise from the street to distract. Well, and the old smith. He snored with a sound like coppers rattling in a tin can.
No way she couldn’t hear it, too. A faint smile tugged at the corner of Ash’s mouth as he sawed through the second shackle. When it finally came away, he collected up the pieces and bent to hide them in the scrap bin, eyes dragging over her face to confirm she did not mind.
Afterwards, he hesitated. Normally payment would change hands, he knew that by now. It was just how things worked in the south. In Qunandar, it would have been different.
Of course, a runaway slave would have no coin. Nor did the Coterie’s watchdog deserve to be paid for Ash’s work. Fine, then. He stood, wiping his hands on his apron. Loosening the strings, he threw the sheet of leather aside.
“Miss. Wherever you’re going, may I walk you there?” It was more polite than saying what he thought, if only just: that she looked like she had nowhere to go at all. That she might face recapture if she stayed on the street alone. Ashaad pulled a finished sword off the counter display and tucked it through his belt. It didn’t hold a candle to his stolen glaive – but it would work in a pinch. He’d trained with many weapons as part of the Antaam.
“I’m not supposed to leave, but …” What could the Coterie do to him? They appeared to need him alive, for reasons they had yet to share.
@Primrose Clery
No way she couldn’t hear it, too. A faint smile tugged at the corner of Ash’s mouth as he sawed through the second shackle. When it finally came away, he collected up the pieces and bent to hide them in the scrap bin, eyes dragging over her face to confirm she did not mind.
Afterwards, he hesitated. Normally payment would change hands, he knew that by now. It was just how things worked in the south. In Qunandar, it would have been different.
Of course, a runaway slave would have no coin. Nor did the Coterie’s watchdog deserve to be paid for Ash’s work. Fine, then. He stood, wiping his hands on his apron. Loosening the strings, he threw the sheet of leather aside.
“Miss. Wherever you’re going, may I walk you there?” It was more polite than saying what he thought, if only just: that she looked like she had nowhere to go at all. That she might face recapture if she stayed on the street alone. Ashaad pulled a finished sword off the counter display and tucked it through his belt. It didn’t hold a candle to his stolen glaive – but it would work in a pinch. He’d trained with many weapons as part of the Antaam.
“I’m not supposed to leave, but …” What could the Coterie do to him? They appeared to need him alive, for reasons they had yet to share.
@Primrose Clery
10-11-2024, 12:19 PM
