Lydia
I let myself wriggle under the ice. The girl--was this Everlee? Regardless, she had power and I was shocked by it. The choices however made my internally angered. I liked to be in charge, and I liked to give the orders. I hated being told what to do. But I needed to listen. You have two choices, let me rip your head off and use your intestines like a scarf, or I can knock you out before I gut you like a fish. I smiled a little at my own ramblings. But merely looked up at Everlee and tried to soften the anger in my face.
"I'll go with you. I'll go with you and no one needs to worry about being turned in." I hoped the ice would evaporate. I hoped the pistol still lodged down by my foot would not be damaged. It was tough and old and I prayed it would withstand this. The girl holding me under the ice seemed to acknowledged Everlee's power and released me. I stood, shivering a little and walked slowly to the tree where my dagger had embedded it's self and pulled it out with one smooth motion. No, that was too obvious I should have struggled with it. True but it was too late now. I knelt slowly and tucked it back into my boot. Standing and approaching the group again, letting my head fall and my eyes keep to the ground, stumbling a little as I went. Poor Liddy. So ashamed to be destroyed in battle by a prick group of rogues. I looked up at Everlee and smiled.
"Thank you. I will fight with you to the best of my abilities." I said slowly, sweetly. The natural high pitch of my voice helped this act immensely. My eyes flashed towards Reva and then drifted to Sheara. I winked and smiled to her, as if to let her know I was okay. This was all a big misunderstanding. I began to shift on the toes of my boots and braid my hair slowly. What now? I asked myself. What to do now? I would go with them. If Everlee or the other has bought my story--I was not sure. But I could hope. A girl could dream. I walked slowly towards Sheara hoping no one else would stop me, tackle me or stab me. I was bleeding and I played this up. Clutching the wound and staggering a little. Maybe when I sat by the girl I would faint.
It was then when I saw him. My mother had called him--Rava, Rayden. I think it was Rayden. The man she had fought. The man she had intended to kill.
