Aislin burst into the hut with Abrecan close behind, catching Brom with his armor half on.
“There’s no time for that!” she shouted, remembering how very close the armored men were to the edge of the village. It would take them little time to conduct a search, and every minute was precious. They had to get away!
“No, no time,” the smith agreed. “Carry it with you, boy!”
Aislin shook her head, “We can’t carry that armor and make any time, master smith. We must flee!”
It was the smith’s turn to shake his head. “Run? You’ll never make it, lass. You’ve a single horse between the two of ya. Even with a few minutes’ head start, that armored beast’ll catch ya sure enough.”
“What would you suggest, then?” Brom asked. He was removing the pieces of armor he had managed to strap on, but he moved with painful slowness.
“I’ve an idea, but you’ll have to hurry. Help him, girl!” Aislin bent and began unstrapping the armor, while Brom stood there in embarrassment.
“Please, Princ…” A painful tug on a strap silenced him.
“Ah, don’t be too harsh on your man there, girl. I knew something was different about ya already. Not my business, though.”
Aislin spared Brom a scathing glance. His blush deepened with shame on top of the embarrassment. She pulled the last piece of armor away and Abrecan scooped it all up, carrying the heavy metal plates as though they weighed nothing.…
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