[ Hounds. She can hear them barking behind her. Rey has scars on her legs and one on her collarbone from Plutt's hounds and these are big, too big, and the Lord Commander of the Redcloaks was not going to call them off of a child.
She goes up a tree. Her boots don't have good soles on them anymore, not after her journey East, so they slip and slide and fail to grip the bark well and she has to take one, two, three runs at it before she can grab the nearest branch and hoist herself up onto it.
All she's done is corner herself. She climbs up one branch, then another, the hounds scrapping and snarling and snapping at the trunk and rocking it. She balances delicately on a higher branch and looks around. Can she hop from tree to tree? How far was that going to get her, really?
She can hear the pounding of hoofbeats in the distance. Gods, what was she doing here? She should have gone with Finn, damn the missive, damn House Organa, damn Skywalker, damn it all. This had nothing to do with her. Frustrated tears rose in the corners of her eyes and she seated herself on the branch, pressing her back to the trunk of the tree, trying to hold steady.
He was in armor. He wasn't going to come climbing any trees after her. Maybe she could wait him out.
No, she chided herself. Don't be stupid. He'd take it off. Well maybe then she could stab him. She had a knife in her belt. It wasn't a big one, but if he acted fast and didn't wait for one of his knights, then maybe …
Panted breaths poured out of her as she tried to make a plan, but mostly she went in circles, pressing her eyes shut and trying to will away the sound of snarling, drooling dogs who were eager for a taste of her blood.
You're alive. She told herself. You're alive, and as long as you're alive, you can find a way out of this. Your life is all you need. ]
Call them off!
[ She shouted it down. Her voice is softer than it should be, looking at her. It doesn't sound like a slave's speech either. ]
You won't get anything if you kill me, so call them off!
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She goes up a tree. Her boots don't have good soles on them anymore, not after her journey East, so they slip and slide and fail to grip the bark well and she has to take one, two, three runs at it before she can grab the nearest branch and hoist herself up onto it.
All she's done is corner herself. She climbs up one branch, then another, the hounds scrapping and snarling and snapping at the trunk and rocking it. She balances delicately on a higher branch and looks around. Can she hop from tree to tree? How far was that going to get her, really?
She can hear the pounding of hoofbeats in the distance. Gods, what was she doing here? She should have gone with Finn, damn the missive, damn House Organa, damn Skywalker, damn it all. This had nothing to do with her. Frustrated tears rose in the corners of her eyes and she seated herself on the branch, pressing her back to the trunk of the tree, trying to hold steady.
He was in armor. He wasn't going to come climbing any trees after her. Maybe she could wait him out.
No, she chided herself. Don't be stupid. He'd take it off. Well maybe then she could stab him. She had a knife in her belt. It wasn't a big one, but if he acted fast and didn't wait for one of his knights, then maybe …
Panted breaths poured out of her as she tried to make a plan, but mostly she went in circles, pressing her eyes shut and trying to will away the sound of snarling, drooling dogs who were eager for a taste of her blood.
You're alive. She told herself. You're alive, and as long as you're alive, you can find a way out of this. Your life is all you need. ]
Call them off!
[ She shouted it down. Her voice is softer than it should be, looking at her. It doesn't sound like a slave's speech either. ]
You won't get anything if you kill me, so call them off!