As Petyr knelt in the dust, a hand went into his pocket took away the bolt he had stashed.

“You’re a thief,” said that same strangely accented female voice. “Where I come from, thieves are punished by death.”

Does that mean you’re going to kill me? He couldn’t find the courage to ask.

Was there even a point to the question? It was obvious that this person was trouble, that this encounter would lead him nowhere good. Why did I pick up that damned bolt! What was I hoping to achieve?

“I know you,” she said, pointing the cold tip of the bolt against the nape of his neck. Petyr shuddered and closed his eyes. “You’re the son of that alchemist.”

So it was true. There was a woman stalking their home. Presumably this one or one of her friends…

She can’t kill me, he told himself, eyes stuck on a tuft of dry grass in front of him. A ladybug was slowly crawling up the side of a blade. I’ve done nothing wrong. Nothing...

The woman went quiet. The sun above blazed like an inferno now, making it difficult to breathe. Petyr knew most of the heat was coming from inside, from his pounding heart and racing blood, but he could do nothing to stop it.

“Do nothing that will make me act hastily,” she said.

The tip of the bolt withdrew from the back of his head.

His body felt heavy as his knees pressed into the dirt. A tickling rivulet of sweat coursed down the side of his face.

The woman came around to look him in the eyes and stood before him.

Well, more of a girl, really. One with an unpleasant face and a short brown bob.

Despite the firm way she spoke, she couldn’t have been older than her early twenties, and she wasn’t even taller than he was. If she’s alone, I can take her.

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Admittedly, he would’ve taken her in more ways than one. As his eyes trailed down her body, it was difficult not to notice her wide hips and… highly generous backside. Petyr instantly knew he’d never seen her before, because that was an ass he would’ve remembered forever.

The strangest thing about her outfit. As his father hinted initially, it seemed to be made from some silvery fabric, almost like a smooth metal fashioned into a one-piece garment that hugged her body.

And yet, it made no sound as she moved, nor did it shiny like any metal he’d ever seen; she moved effortlessly, as if she wore nothing at all.

One thing was for certain—this was no pirate. No red eyes on her either.

“Keep looking at me the way you are now, and I’ll take both your eyes.”

Despite her size, Petyr could not resist the fear that came over him at the sound of that imposing voice and let his gaze drift downwards. “I… I wasn’t…”

“Close your eyes and leave them closed. Hold your hands out.”

Petyr gulped and obeyed. Please don’t let me die now. Please. He wasn’t even sure what god he was asking, but any was fine.

Something cold and metallic wrapped around each one of his wrists. Petyr opened his eyes and noticed the metal cuffs that chaining his hands together.

Unlike whatever she was wearing, these cuffs were old and rusty, not at all in line with everything else he’d seen from her.

Even Petyr was bright enough to know that this only meant one thing: she had come here with no intention of taking prisoners and was improvising.

Which could’ve been very good… or very bad.

His eyes went up searching for hers.

The woman smacked him hard across the side of the head. “At what point did I tell you to open your eyes? Can you remind me? Keep them closed.”

Petyr closed them again but muttered unintelligible as he tasted blood in his mouth. What is it with people and violence?

Her hand wrapped mercilessly around hair and yanked him up, tearing out a few strands in the process. “You’ll do as I say. Now you may open your eyes. Walk forwards.”

Forwards wasn’t down the road towards his home, but into the forest…

As he made his first step towards the trees, Petyr glanced left and right, weighing his odds of escaping. He had never been much of a fighter, but he’d always been slender and fast on his feet.

Am I faster than that bolt, though?…

Remembering the speed with which it moved to strike the eagle, practically invisible to his sight, made him imagine how quickly it would go through the back of his head. His eyes would pop and blood would pour of his mouth, and then he’d be dead.

His knees buckled at the thought. Probably not a good idea.

Like all worried souls under extreme duress, he could only think to ask one thing as stepped into the forest. “Are you g-going to kill m-me?” he stammered, afraid of how nervous he sounded.

“Did I order you to say anything? We move forward.”

So much for that, then.

What could he do but listen for the time being?

I'll escape. There's gotta be a way...