Do I know you?

The Witchfinder’s covered wagon swayed and shook with every rock they sped over, every dip in the ill-paved path before they joined the king’s road to Namarast. With her hands tied behind her back, she had nothing but her feet to really brace herself with, and the young mage child bumped into her left shoulder hard whenever they made a heavy turn, hardly letting the horses slow.

The sole Witchfinder that stayed with them in the back was staring at them both, finger ready on the crossbow trigger, particularly leering at the tear in Medea’s right-side sleeve. The stars on her skin quietly shone, revealing that the dog’s bite there had healed itself, and she could tell the Witchfinder wanted to ask about it, if only to mock her for it. She leaned her shoulder back as much as she could, trying to hide it in her mass of curls, which only elicited an ugly laugh from the man for her helplessness.

Beyond that, and beyond the fluttering panic in her stomach, she wasn’t too entirely worried. Antioch and Balthazar would be on her tail soon, and they’d bring the force of the City down on anyone who touched her, that much was an absolute certainty. She huffed – Antioch hated when anyone looked at her wrong, let alone tried to arrest her, and if she were honest, seeing him there at the beach when things turned wrong....

....yeah alright it was pretty hot, now that she had a moment to actually appreciate it.

She let that image of him appearing like some dark hero calm her down, closing her eyes and maybe adding a sunlit backdrop to him, maybe imagining a few of his buttons undone like the cover of one of her romantic mage-nonmage novels --

- The sound of the Witchfinder cursing and shifting to the end of the covered wagon broke that pleasant reverie. He raised his crossbow at something following them, and a wave of cold terror washed over Medea when she heard the sound of Grace’s bark.

The dogs had followed after her.

The Witchfinder let fly an arrow, bringing a muffled scream from Medea. Without waiting to hear whines or cries if it hit, she rose from her seat as he started to reload the crossbow and shoulder-slammed the Witchfinder into the wall, brushing her cheek against his shoulder to bring her gag down. A single look out the back of the wagon let her see Antioch’s faithful pack in pursuit - Faust, Voltair, Pepper and Grace, none of them hit, thank the gods – before she took a deep breath in, releasing a piercing high-pitched whistle-tone that meant only one thing: go home.

They slowed down immediately, but howled instead of stopping altogether, protesting when all they wanted to do was get to her. She whistled again, harder, her lungs protesting, but before she could do it a third time, the Witchfinder found his bearing and struck the butt of the crossbow into the back of her head with a long-winded swear, accusing her of witchcraft.

She fell back against the feet of the magechild who muffled a cry under her own gag, enduring the stars in her eyes as she struggled for a much weaker third whistle there on the floor of the wagon, the sound pathetic and wavering, interrupted by a harsh kick to her ribs to get her to shut up. She coughed and had to strain her ears for the sound of the pack’s whine, the trill dying off as they turned around.

What was Antioch thinking, sending the dogs after a wagon full of armed men who’d shoot them at a moment’s notice! A dog wasn’t going to stop or dodge when a gun was aimed at them; not even Pepper was smart enough to recognize what it would do. Maybe she had to rethink her confidence in him coming right after her.

The Witchfinder towered over her, sneering, raising up his boot to stomp onto her ribs again.

She sneered back – how fucking dare he aim a weapon at her dogs – and kicked him back, both feet viciously connecting with his sternum. He swore, trying to gain his balance, but with the crossbow and his one foot already raised, he toppled over and fell out of the back of the wagon, crashing and tumbling on the road behind them.

“Serves you fucking right!” She yelled after him, her heart beating hard in her sore ribcage as she sat up with a grunt. The only thing left to do was try to untie the rope at her wrists before she could help her and the magechild escape.

Unfortunately, the Witchfinders driving the front of the wagon had heard the commotion, and were starting to come around.