Angua Reaches the Mainland [Solo]

[Angua]

The cabin was a claustrophobic nightmare.

Bulky wooden furniture didn't sit in the room so much as loom with the proud air of something ugly and bold, willing to stand on it's last leg for a century more. The bed required jumping in to, at which point one was nearly pressed against the ceiling, despite sinking deep in to the worn down mattress. A warped wooden dresser squeezed between bed and wall made it easier to climb in on to the pool of mattress, but offered little mercy when attempting to jump off, often stubbing the toes of the unwary.

In the centre of the room squatted a fat knee-high table. Despite having bruised her shins several times when the ship swayed, Angua was grateful to have it nailed to the floor in her room, for it provided a place on which she could write.

Sitting before it, she carefully brought out her leather bound journal, and placed it in the centre of the writing space. The book was swathed in deep green with yellow tinted pages for easier reading, and gold engraved "1" on the spine. This was where she kept the information she found so that she might bring it back to her people at the end of her journeys.

Journal was quickly followed by two jars of ink, a fat fabric roll, and a small wooden tray. Very gently, Angua pulled a long stick of incense from her pack, sparked it, and set it in the tray.

Preparations complete, she knelt before the table and bowed her head, offering a prayer to the God of Written Word, Sod'dak, that he may grant upon her the ability to write neatly, and with clear meaning. Once the prayer had floated to the ceiling through the smoke of the incense, she reached for the roll. A pull of the strings that held it together revealed compartments holding thin wooden sticks, and small metal pieces; writing utensils.

Angua began meticulously articulating everything she had seen and heard that morning in her journal as the small room filled with the rich scent of spice. Things that she had seen and experienced first hand were written in black ink, while that which she had surmised or heard from others entered the journal in red.

It was as Angua was dating and signing the bottom of her newly written document that the room lurched. Her bottle of black ink leapt from the table, twisting menacingly and aiming for the meticulous notes Angua had just finished. Swiftly, she grabbed for the bottle. In her rush, and possibly due to the speed with which she jerked it back down, ink flew from the top of the bottle and splattered on to the page.

Angua thought several curse words, but didn't utter them. She had been taught from birth that a misplaced word could easily lead the Wordsmith in to chaos. Still, it was tempting.

With care, she stoppered her bottles of ink, cleaned and rolled up her pens, burnt out the incense, scrubbing its ashes from her tray, and placed them all back in the safety of her backpack.

That finished, she neatly pulled the sheet from her book, and crumpled the ruined document. Thinking up several new and improved curse words, Angua went to see if she could vent her frustrations with the captain of the ship.

[Angua]

When Angua reached deck she was not greeted with the same relaxing scene she had come to know over these past several days. Instead the sailors bustled, and the guards stood in a tight group, agitated and discussing. The other passengers were nowhere to be found.

At first, Angua thought the worst; that another storm was approaching. One had caught them yesterday, and Angua still had the bitter remembrance of vomiting on her last set of notes. Luckily she'd been working on a letter to her family, and had not gotten anything on her journals. Still, it was an insult to Sod'dak to heave on any work, and she'd had to meditate for most of this morning to apologize through Mukagrk, the Great God Silence and Death, father above all others.

Then, after she had finally deemed her apology accepted through her morning of solitude and silence, the ship's rocking had ensured she would need to put in another few hours of repentance this evening. How did the other Wordsmiths adapt to journeying when it meant so many bumps and spills?

It was not until Angua peered up at the clear blue of the sky that she realized no storm was in sight. It was as she was squinting up and around in a daze that the captain found her.

"Lass I'd be a'running back iffin I were ya," the man huffed. Broad shouldered and dependably muscled, the captain towered a foot taller than Angua, who looked up with a frown. "It's pirates, y'ken?" He huffed again, glowering at a spot in the distance where water met land. His skin was dark and leathery from his numerous years out at sea, and it was clear from the scars and lumps adorning his wrinkled face that he had lived a rough and tumble life. Despite that, he had been gentle with Angua, and she'd seen him tossing the children around the deck in play.

"Pirates?" Angua repeated hollowly. Living life on her peaceful hidden island meant that she'd never had to deal with pirates or bandits. Her second hand knowledge came from the tomes of her people, outlining their misconduct on the seas. "I will fight alongside your men."

Moustache twitching wildly, the captain roared, "ABSOLUTELY N- NOW WHERE YA GOIN'?!"

Angua ignored him and sped back to her small room.

Finally!

All her life she had been able to work off her daily frustrations with a healthy regiment of spars and training, but weeks spent aboard ships headed to Althanas meant that she had been with a severe lack of partners lately.

When she had boarded this ship, with its guards in shining armour and pristine cloaks, she had thought she may be able to find a match or two, but the only man she had asked, who towered over her at 6"5, had laughed near to crying when she'd proposed a friendly match. After the second or fourth spasm of laughter, when he had collected himself properly, he'd turned her away and told her to look for candy from the captain instead.

Remembering his jeers still made her face red and her gut clench. She hadn't realized humans could be so rude, but it was understandable considering everything else of which they were capable.

The young Wordsmith swiftly pulled off the dress and gloves she used to hide her unnaturally shaped body, and rummaged in her backpack.

Arms disproportionately long ended in long fingered hands tipped with sharp claws that nearly brushed her knee. Dress and gloves off, one could now see that soft fur started just above her elbow and thickened in to a plush red flecked with white as it covered her fingers.

Her darkest brown shirt went over her head, snagging a bit on one of the two nubs she had atop her head. Growling in frustration, she gently dislodged the string and managed to tie up the v-neck shirt without any further mishap.

Next came her pants, shaped to accommodate for her thick thighs and lower legs that bowed backward. More fur began at the sides of her hip, trailing down in a single line and slowly growing down and outward, a long triangle that swallowed her leg by the time it reached her knee. Fur continued past her ankle, and wide flat feet until it ended where her raptor clawed toes began.

She took a bit of extra time to ensure her toe claws did not snag on fabric as her nubs had. Today she would wear neither gloves nor boots; her claws could give her the edge in hand-to-hand combat should she lose her weapon. It wasn't much, but every advantage counted in battle. Today would also be the day wherein she first showed humans what she truly was. The nerves were thankfully lost in her rush of adrenaline at the thought of her upcoming fight.

"Swords...swords..." Angua searched around in a rush before memory of allowing the boudoir to hold them reminded her where they had been stored. After her twin swords were clipped, one at each hip, she secured her throwing knives to her thighs, and triple checked that her tags were replenished and ready for use.

Finally satisfied, she grabbed for the door handle. The movement of her arm made her shirt bottom flare briefly.

Swords hit the floor as she furiously unclipped her belt and stuffed her shirt ends in to her pants. Gone were the days of soft cotton and lace that never fluttered or hindered her as she fought. Lost were her plush leather pants that fit like a second set of fur over her legs.

This time, after she had clipped on her swords, she moved a bit, curling this way and that, testing the flexibility of her outfit. The pants, despite their thickness, allowed for full movement. Adrenaline coursed through her body as her heart hammered its rhythm in her head. Her first real fight; had she been bred for this, or magic? Was she destined for horns or antlers? Now could be the time, the beginning of all.

Elated, and muscles screaming for movement, she ended her stretched with a pounce straight up...



...and slammed in to the roof of the cabin.

[Angua]

The Captain didn't notice Angua climb back up to the deck of the ship, for which she was grateful. She swiftly stepped away from the stairs and made her way closer to the guards in an attempt to go unnoticed.

This, achieving the opposite, garnered the attention of the man that had refused to fight with her during the first day of the journey.

"Now then," he stepped up apprehensively, but too curious to resist, "What you be?"

Angua looked up in to his strict cut jaw and dark stubbled face nervously. Would he tell her to leave as the captain had? It seemed that humans, just as Wordsmiths, judged people based on their looks alone. No one on her island had been silly enough to rule out that she could be a combat type before, however.

Perhaps it was the sheer monstrous size of their bodies that made humans feel so superior. Still, even the boar-smiths hadn't underestimated Angua's size before. Her lack of horns, yes, but not her size.

"I'm a Wordsmith," she replied honestly. The Elders had instructed her to keep the location of their peaceful island hidden lest she wished to bring inevitable war upon them. The knowledge of her people, their customs, and beliefs, were up for use should she need or want.

"Now," he appeared slightly embarrassed, "I meant yer race, not yer trade."

His accent wasn't as crude as the captain's, lilting where the other man's had spat, but there was something in the eyes that seemed familiar. A distant relation, perhaps? The guard was by far too handsome to be of any close relation with a rough and tumble man such as the Captain.

"Wordsmith by race, nomad and scribe by trade. And what are you?" She retorted.

He stared at her for a long moment, "human," he eventually replied, "guard," he pointed to his shining breastplate as though to accent his point. Angua's face reddened. Okay, making jokes wasn't as easy a she hoped it would be.

"Oh, um, yes, I..." she contemplated stating it had been a joke, but decided against it. Her first impulse had been incorrect before, and probably would be again, "I can see that now."

A short awkward silence fell but guards, never being much for awkward nor silences, broke it again. "So can ye actually use them blades at yer hip er... mayhap them claws?"

Angua hesitated as she realized more men had come to join the first; now near half a dozen faces peered down at her with interest.

Angua, our instincts have been massively incorrect before, but surely we can get through this. Prove yourself, and these men will wish to befriend you.

With a swift movement, Angua reached in to her pouch and flung out a small black throwing knife. It hissed as it cut through the air and landed square in the middle of the closest mast, pinning down the hat of a passing sailor as it did so.

The sailor glared at the lot of them, ripped the knife from the mast, reclaimed his hat, and spat on the ground disdainfully. The knife, which had thudded on the floor of the deck, remained there as the soldiers laughed and patted Angua on the back.

I did it! She thought. I made the sailor mad, but I did it!

"A decent throw, aye," winked an unfamiliar grizzled man Angua temporarily dubbed Gnu. "But can ya do it with the biggins?" His accent somehow managed to be the most lilting, and also the crudest she had heard. A man from an area different than the others, but near indistinguishable.

"The big blades stay firmly in my hands," she reconsidered what she had said, "I only use my hands."

"Er, yeah, I c'n see tha," Gnu sniffed. "Was makin' a joke, see?"

"Ah bet't makes all the yung men sad to hear 'er say tha'," one guard muttered to the other. The crowd heard, and laughed again. It seemed the prospect of a fight had made their heads light, and stomachs giddy, as the laughs came cheap.

"Yes," she answered, "all the young men are sad they..." prove you understood, prove you understood, "can't hold my blades."

Gnu sighed, and whispered to the man who had made the remark, "some wimmen ya just can'talk to." He turned back to Angua, "well, if ya die, I hope ya find a nice yung strappin man to put down yer blades far in the afterlife."

"Unlikely," Angua drew her weapons to feel their comforting shape. She could see the pirate ship approaching them, now. It would be only a few minutes before the fighting would inevitably begin. "I shall not be seeing home for some years now, and no man would want a woman with nubs."

The man who had whispered jokes about big swords and small hands leaned towards Gnu suddenly. Angua dubbed him Mutterbuds. "Did she just say no man'd want a woman with nips?"

"I think she said nubs," Gnu replies.

Mutterbuds nodded, "what's 'em, then? Flat nips?"

"How'm I ter know? She the one what said it!"

"Right, right," Mutterbuds considered, "prolly no point'n askin' then, ya think? Wimmin can be real sens'tive bout their nips."

"Has no one yet told ya," Gnu replied quietly, "that ya've got the class of a horse arse?"

"Really? A horse arse?! Well... I never... I've heard pig-mud, and boar nethars, but have yet to hear horse arse. That be a noble animal, very r-r-reespectable! Thank yer!"

Gnu sighed again.

Angua, who had heard none of this, was busy listening to the man who had laughed at her on her first day. He had a sort of respectable integrity that the other guards lacked. He also seemed to be about ten years younger. Angua dubbed him temporarily, "Spot".

"Listen," he had said, "the men be a bit crude, but they've brought up somethin' ye may want to be wary of..."

"And what is that of which I should 'be wary'?" Angua responded testily; she had heard enough calls away from battle, and was itching to prove herself to these men who had shown her smiles. It had been a long time since anyone had treated her kindly, or even spoken to her for more than 5 minutes, and it was shocking to find the gentleness she longed for among such brute humans.

"Yer not... 'xacly human, but yer a pretty thing, and I reckon yer curves would be pleasin' to the touch, and all seem to be in th'right place..."

The young Wordsmiths face quickly transformed in to a beacon of red visible from miles around. It would soon provide a nice target for the pirate ship's cannons, if he continued along those lines.

"Now... may not be what yer wantin' ta har... but it the pirates catch ye, I'd recommend suicide," he looked at her hard, as if willing her to see what he had meant. "It'll be better by far 'n what they be doing with a small, cute thing like yerself if they're let."

Angua, who had been about to respond, was cut off by the screams of the captain.

"Men!" The old man shouted, "I don't pay ye te stand 'round flappin' gums and flirtin with yunngins! And YE, YOUNG GEL! Did I not tell ye-" he paused and examined her again from head to toe. "Wordsmith, are ye?"

[Angua]

"I am," she responded, taken slightly aback; not many of her kind left the island, and in the last 100 years only those that had been chosen during the yearly festival had done so. This was due to the small number of those who had returned. Most Wordsmiths who left their island sent their tomes back, but never graced the land with their presence again. Their journals never explained why, and the Wordsmiths worried.

"I must admit, Captain, I'm surprised that you've heard of my kind before," Angua admitted.

"Had'un other lass on me ship near ten ye-ars back, lovely thing, horns top her head, and fought like the dickens. Had pirates back then too, come to think," his eyes bored in to the back of her skull with suspicion, "not saying she wasn't a small thing, but she wasn't quite so little as yerself. Tol' me a fair deal of yer kind, I ken, too. Never mentioned yer kind were targeted."

"We're... we're not," Angua frowned. "I thought pirates were common around these parts."

The Captain rolled his shoulders and grinned, "only the truly adventurous try me ship, lass. Can't say I'm unknown 'bout these waters, and me son running a guard on long trips is pretty well ken round the docks, too. Even those... less reputable sights, if you ken me saying."

Angua turned large eyes on to Spot, "you're his son?"

Spot raised an eye and grinned. "Aye, can ye nai see the fam'ly resemblance?" For just a second his accent was stronger, thicker, familiar. Angua managed to collect her jaw from the floor in time to respond.

"Oh, yes, I see it now."

Spot sighed, "lass, if yer going to be travelling round Althanas, I'd learn to take a joke er too, ya?"

Angua nodded, wordlessly.

"LOOK SHARP MEN!" The Captain shouted suddenly. "They'll be in shooting distance soon!"

"BROG!" Spot snapped, "STEP UP!"

A man the size of a small mountain grunted, and straightened. Angua had to lean back from her spot near his naval just to see the underside of the mustache he wore large and waxed in a curl at the sides of his enormous face.

"Brog..." she repeated in wonder, "is he a troll?"

Several of the men laughed, "No lass," Spot answered, "Brog here comes from a place where the men and women 'ave done been bred es warriors for 'undred of years. Cold place, there, completely uninhabitable to the sane."

Brog tried to look down at Angua. When that did not suffice, he bent at the waist until he found her. His smile could have brightened up the coldest of tundras. For a short moment Angua was three again, and this was the massive face of an angel.

"Small lass," Brog's voice was like an avalanche; sprinting, bounding and booming with a force to be reckoned with, but strangely beautiful to listen to. The giant fumbled in his pouch and produced a small paper flower, "Brog take goud care of leetle gerl." His speech done, he turned and picked up a shield taller than Angua, and at least three times as wide.

As if her jaw could fall no further, it dragged down another inch, "Brog is human?" she asked again, and Spot's hand gently pushed her chin up as he laughed.

"Aye lass, he be human, and one of the best battle mages we employ," the laughter died as Spot examined her from head to toe again. "We kennae protect ye in the thick of it. Do a weary soldier a favor and don't die, aye?"

The handles in her hands felt heavy as the pirate ship quickly bore down upon them. Despite the sweat glistening on her body Angua's tongue was dry, and her pulse near defended her. She wasn't sure if she felt alive or half in the grave, but the world was brighter, and she could the passage of time gently embraced her.

None of her spars had brought on this feeling. She'd never even drawn blood with her blades before. It didn't matter now, though; she would do what was needed. Angua didn't know if she was to grow horns or antlers, but she knew she wouldn't wait around, hiding in her room, while men fought and died to protect her.

"I don't intend to," she told him, "Horns, antlers, nubs... I'm going to show them what Angua can do. I will not be defined by my genetics."

"Good answer, lass," he turned to his men, "ALRIGHT LADS, WHO ARE WE?!"

"WE ARE THE ORDER OF POISEDHAN!" They roared, heads high, assaulting the oncoming pirates with their tenor and bass.

"And what do we want today?" he asked quietly. As one, Spot and his guards drew breath. With an animalistic roar, they replied.

"TO RED THE WATERS WITH THE BLOOD OF PIRATES!"

There was a silence while over a dozen guards and sailors drew breath, then came the final battle cry. It rose from the ranks, unfurling from the deck of the ship and rising on massive scaled wings. It flapped twice, appendages rising and falling as more voices joined in, and more breaths taken.

When the strength of the beast filled those on deck, Angua was surprised to realize she had joined in the call, arms raised, head tilted back and tension fleeting. The creature they had created pulled fear and hesitance from the bodies of Angua and the men of the guard.

They screamed on until the first bang filled the air.

[Angua]

Brogg thrust the butt of his shield down on to the deck and grunted. The smallest gleam of blue bloomed within the metal, expanding from the center until the surface was covered with an crystalline glimmer. As the edges of the shield filled, Brogg thrust it forward, connecting it to the rail of the deck.

When the shield stopped short, the aura that had been created did not. It continued to drift until it was near six feet from the ship, at which point Brogg rose, and the glow paused. With a grunt, the large man raised his arms. As he did so the shield grew upward and downward, drifting well above the ship, and even dipping down in to the water below.

Once more did Brogg shove his arms out, this time horizontally. Again, the shield grew, expanding along the side of the deck. By the time he had finished, near the entire side of the ship was shielded by blue.

Angua didn't realize how quick the process had been until the first cannonball struck. It slammed in to the shield with the sound of a large bell being rung, and stayed.

"Fierde 'n Hammar!" Spot shouted, and two men were beside Brogg, breathing deep. As one they slammed their feet in to the ground, and the large lump of metal began to spin. Never in her life had Angua seen or dreamed that magic could be used this way.

Once the cannonball was spinning fiercely, the men pulled back their hands, and threw. As though they had been touching the ball itself, it lobbied forward and struck the pirate ship.

Angua didn't know if the screams were real or in her head as the enemy ship took damage, and the pirates began quickly reorganizing their deck and crew.

"Wait, Fierde, Hammar, charge up. WHERE'S HILDA?"

"Here, Captain!" The woman saluted from Brogg's side, making Spot jump.

"Ah, er, good. Check fer damages."

Hilda was a large woman, larger even than Spot, but she came only to Brogg's shoulder as she ran hands gently along his back, muttering to herself as she did so.

"Small damage to the ribs, barely scratched. He can take at least two more of those before retiring." She swiftly moved to the other, much smaller men, and began gently running her fingers over them. Angua could not see magic, but she assumed the woman was using it, for the men relaxed and their skin tone seemed pinker when she was done.

"No point in patching Brogg 'less they decide not to launch another. I refreshed Fierde and Hammar for now, but if you want mages for the brawl I'd say they reflect no more than one other. If they decide to launch more..."

As one the guards turned their attention back to the pirate ship, and waited.

The cannon on the enemy ship wailed again, and shot a burning ball of magma towards them. A sensation of warm liquid flowed from Angua's shoulders, pooling at her tingling feet. She knew this feeling well; it was panic.

Spot lowered his hand and Brogg's shield fell swiftly. The man apparently didn't need to see his commander to know what had to be done.

Brogg opened his lungs and pulled in air, expanding his stomach as he did so. When he could hold no more, he paused, and the two mages Fierde and Hammar took breath of their own.

Fire sliced through the air towards the men, and they blew for all they were worth. Frost glistened along Brogg's breath, slamming in to the ball as it tore through the distance between the enemy ship and their own.

Not a second after the breath had left him did the ball freeze. Fierde and Hammar's breath seemed to have a different effect on the now frozen block of ice, steadying it midair. When it was a mere fifteen feet away the giant of a man Brogg thrust the other mages behind him, and hefted his large shield grimly.

The blue barely appeared in the centre of the shield before the cannonball struck him. The big man roared in pain, but stopped the object of metal and ice. It fell to the deck hard, and cracked the wood beneath it.

Crisis averted, Brogg fell to his knees, and Hilda was soon at his side. With a mere touch of his fingers to his kneeling neck, Hilda shook her head.

"No more," she announced. "His left arm is completely shattered, and the crack on his ribs has expanded and splintered. He may throw up a distance shield, but only one, and not to a fire element ball. Not again."

Spot nodded, "let him rest, but we can't heal him yet. Joeffer!"

Mutterbuds was at Spot's side instantly. "I'll patch 'im up, sir, afore the, sea scum get 'board the boat, sir!"

"Good man. Make sure he's well and cozy 'fore yer come back up, we may need the poor lad yet. Ya ken to use our salve on his ribs, but not his arm. He won't be needin' that to block the iron balls."

Joeffer, formerly Mutterbuds, nodded. "Yessir!" The raggedy man went to Brogg and fondly aided him to his feet. "Ya did a vurry good job, lad. Rest now, and we may be needin' ya soon enough. Cap'n says we can even use the salve today."

Once Brogg had been towed away, Hilda sighed.

"Fierde and Hammar are getting tired, but didn't take any damage from the impact. Brogg soaked it up well."

"Good man Brogg," Spot muttered, and examined his crew.

"Stanley?"

"Aye?" came a small voice from midst the group of guards.

"Can ye put up an image of Brog's shield a'fore the ship? I don't want the scum comin' to any less than savory conclusion about our strength after the barrage. I'm going to ready our own weapons. Fierde, you're with me. Hammar, get some rest, but no healing with Hilda. Threndglar, you protect Stanley."

Formerly Gnu saluted, "with me very life, Captain!"

"Angua," Spot added, "stay alive. they'll be trying to board soon."

The Wordsmith nodded mutely, but already she was beginning to see her lack of strength. In a fair swords-only fight, maybe she'd have a chance, but this was well beyond her capabilities. Home had never fully prepared her for something on this scale.

Spot and Fierde swiftly made their way up on to the higher end of the deck. Angua saw sparks surrounding them, and her eyes grew wide. Surely they weren't going to-

"It's a good thing we had a storm yesterday," Hilda informed Angua quietly, "the sea's aren't Glenn's friend when they're calm."

"Glenn?"

"Aye, the commander," Hilda raised eyebrows at Angua, "did you not know his name?"

"Oh... no, I didn't. Is he creating the sparks?"

"That he is. Fierde's not much for makin his own magic, but he's the best amplifier I've ever met. Possibly the only amplifier, too. A rare breed, and invaluable to our service."

"I see..."

"Alright, girly, now here's something you're not going to see again in a long time. Don't look directly at it, if you can help it. You'll need your eyesight for the docking."

As she finished speaking the crackle that had been surrounding the men burst, and a great rumbling boom filled the air. The sound erupted in the pit of Angua's stomach, and she felt the buzz as the wood under her feet vibrated with the weight of the sound.

She wished Hilda had warned her to cover her ears, too. Sensitive to such intense sounds, they felt as though they were bleeding. But then it didn't matter anymore. The event had been more than just sound.

A giant finger of light expanded from the men above, skittered around them tentatively, and then reached out to the pirate ship. Where finger touched deck, chaos ensued. Fire erupted as the tendrils stroked the enemy ship, naturally drawing to the mast and cannons as though reuniting with a lost lover.

The mast remained intact, as did one of the two cannons, but the last siege weapon it touched, it erupted upon. The lightening was quieted, and died, leaving the cannon unusable.

The men cheered, and Fiero collapsed. Deftly, Glenn swung him on to his shoulder and came back down the stairs.

"Someone take him below deck with Brogg."

When Hilda offered, the small man was transferred to her large, dependable shoulder, and the blonde disappeared below deck.

Still the pirate ship advanced, and the soldiers cursed.

"No, they shouldn't be this tenacious," Glenn grumbled, "Tisn't right, tisn't natural. Tha maimy shits def'nitely lost men in tha' attack, I felt em bern."

He looked at Angua, "Less my da' is right, and they're looking fer more 'n supplies and treasure on our wee boat." He sighed again. "It dunnae matter now, they'll be pullin' up aside us in a few seconds. Have ye ever needed to use that tae cut flesh?" It seemed that stress heightened the accent to something closer to his father's.

Angua shook her head mutely.

"Aye... well stay close to Threndglar. He's a good morale booster, and will protect ye when ye've gone in to shock. Don't rely on the man fer more than two seconds, or ye'll get 'im killed. Got it?"

The Wordsmith turned a face of rage to Glenn. "Aye." She tried to show confidence, but her voice trembled as it left her mouth. Confidence, she didn't have. Outrage, even at the thought of being a burden on someone and costing them their life, was barely attainable.

At the moment, the only thing Angua could focus on was her bladder, and not losing control of it.