The nerve of that Elvaan! Two hours in that tree, waiting, stalking her kill—her kill—and he just—!
Stormborn’s lungs smoldered, even as her wild flee slowed to a more casual saunter. That was her tiger and he stole it! People didn’t steal from her, that wasn’t how the world worked. And then, to pick her up that way, as if she were a child or a house pet… The sheer, overwhelming indignity! She kicked at the ground, stumbling through the shower of pebbles and dust.
Her stomach agreed with a disconsolate rumble. That tiger would have lasted a week, maybe longer. Now all she had was one lousy apple she picked off the elf and she was so tired and so, so hungry.
Without bothering to consult her mind, her tiny body halted abruptly and dropped to the ground. It wasn’t the ideal spot for a break. In fact, she’d hoped to be out of here before nightfall, but she’d spent so much time waiting on that kill, she probably wouldn’t have made it even if the Elvaan hadn’t ruined everything. Not that she’d admit that though. Nope, entirely his fault!
Either way, she didn’t have time to sit around--t the very least, she needed to seek shelter but the apple kept singing her name and her legs refused to acknowledge, much less obey her command to get up. And her chest felt ready to explode. And there was that apple… A few more minutes wouldn’t make a difference, she rationalized, plucking the small fruit from her pack.
It was bitter, not nearly ripe enough, and probably the best thing she’d ever tasted. Chewing slowly to make it seem like more than it was, she drew out every bite, spitting the seeds as she went along. It did nothing to curb her rage, and only whet her appetite more, but it did clear some of the fog in her head.
She hadn’t gotten more than a quick glimpse of what she’d lifted off the no good Elvaan and while she’d have preferred the tiger, she crossed her fingers that there was at least something worth her while. She snapped open his wallet first and set to counting. Twelve, thirteen… sixteen… Looked like about eighteen hundred gil, not as much as the tiger hide would have auctioned for, but not bad, either.
Moving on to the smaller pouch, she tipped the contents into her hand. Two water gems. A fire geode. About a half dozen crystals. She may have actually made a nice little profit. Not that her stomach cared about profit. Sighing, she opened the pouch wide, meaning to drop the jewels back in, but a crumpled ball of paper snagged her eye. Smoothing It, she examined the neat script.
N. San D’oria
N. San D’oria
S. San D’oria
Useless. The scrap drifted to the ground.
Settling back in the dust, her eyes slipped shut while she enjoyed the dying warmth of the sun and fantasized about hunting him down and reclaiming what was hers’. He couldn’t be too hard to track, all clunky and brutish and Elvaan, but then too much death hung in this area. She needed to a safer zone where...