“Happy am I to let you wait, ignorant and cold, with your ass in the sod, Master of Fate."
The note, scrawled on dried skin, is delivered from the hand of a scrawny young waif with freckled skin and short-cropped hair the color of fox fur."I was bidden give this to you upon a red hill, Lord Turambar. I could not refuse,” they said, with something crooked in the tilt of their mouth.
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Raza watched the bandit’s outburst as a fox might, sizing up a dog on a chain whose bite is just out of reach. As Turin caught the fist that would have further flattened the youth’s pug nose, the merriment in Raza’s eyes only grew.
“Oh ho ho ho, a ballsy one! Terrific!” They clapped, biting their lip with a grin that only widened as the accusations flew. Soon they were giggling with mirth just as if the whole seething band of outlaws were a circus for their amusement.
“How gallant!” Raza sighed happily. “Though, I’ve heard you laid a few pelts before this lot, and were made their leader! A blond pelt at that!”
They stood awkwardly, tender on one foot, and swung the work of the last few minutes off one finger: a crown woven of the little red flowers that covered the hill top.
"It was worth the trip just to see you in the flesh, handsome Wolf… Even if your friends are rude and I’m out a coin." Raza tossed the crown at Turin, with a kiss blown behind it. "May you live a long, long life, Dread Helm."
The youth laughed cheerily, and turned to go.
Túrin’s eyes snapped to Andróg’s, and an instantaneous understanding was met. Their eyes in turn snapped to their companions, and the latter two, moving with predatory speed, sprang forward and seized the interloper. One slipped in front to obstruct their passage, the other came behind and seized both skinny arms, twisting them up behind their back with terribly well-practiced ferocity.
Túrin stepped forward and took the frontmost outlaw’s place. His eyes were cold, and his stance betrayed a deadly power barely held in check.
"Who are you?”
Raza gave a broken yelp as all the air left their lungs, tugged backwards by four strong arms backed by vicious intent.
“WHAT?” Their pale legs left the ground as they were lifted, kicking and failing, by two of the larger bandits. “GET OFF, YOU—!! DON’T. TOUCH. ME! FILTH! PISSANTS! HOW DARE YOU?"
The squalling creature was subdued at the cost of a few bruises and one bloody bite-wound, but was soon held in place, head pulled back by the hair, forcing them to look directly into the eyes of the outlaw leader, whose flint-hard eyes bore down on them like Death itself.
Raza’s narrow chest heaved and quivered; at first it seemed, of course, from terror, and then—
Laughter burst out of them; loud, unrestrained cackling that brought a bright flush to their dappled cheeks.
"Incredible! I didn’t think you’d actually dare!"
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