The sun rose after a full night of drinking, feasting, and fucking. The morning light had not been shining for long before the camp became busier than an ant's nest. Bandits hurried around as they packed their things and gathered all their stolen loot in a big pile. They were preparing to make a swift getaway once they got their pay, for even if the deal went south, they would need to move their camp elsewhere. Francis certainly wasn't going to be asked to participate in the mad rush, but doubtless, he would've been of little assistance. He was still feeling sore from the previous night, and he wasn't very strong even on his good days. All he could do was sit on a nearby stump and watch.
Tension gradually swelled within his heart, knowing that the moment of truth was coming. He sincerely doubted that anyone would show up at the designated meeting place, and on the off chance someone did, they would not be there for negotiations. He had a plan to make a run for it if he saw an opening. Perhaps Morgana's connection with him would make her more forgiving, but he was less certain of her crew. He feared that, if they found out he lied and potentially put their lives at risk, they would kill him. Perhaps that was simple paranoia on his part, but he was not a gambling man.
He further contemplated running then and there. After all, they were distracted and he didn't have guards assigned to him this time. That thought proved fleeting, however, because he soon noticed his captors occasionally looking over at him. They knew he was there, and if he were to suddenly become absent, it wouldn't take long before it was noticed.
After what felt like ages, Morgana finally sauntered up to him. He knew they must've been close to ready, because she was wearing her armor.
"You look like you're about to grow moss." She said.
"That'd be more interesting than this..."
"That won't be necessary, because we're ready." She moved her left hand from behind her back to reveal some rope. "Just in case, I'll be binding your hands again."
"Oh, wonderful..." he simply stuck his hands out, ready to get all of this over with. He couldn't bear another minute of sitting there and stewing in his emotions.
"I can see you're most excited, my lord." She observed, tying his wrists together with all the skill and dexterity of a sailor.
"Well, I have a lot on my mind."
"I'm sure you can ponder all those things once you get home." She pushed him along as she went to meet with the rest of her crew. "I'm almost sorry that it's over. I would've loved spending more intimate time with you, but I guess that's a small price to pay for all the reward money we'll reap."
The bandits had gathered together, their torches lit as the sun was just starting to descend in the sky. Equipped with a hodgepodge of plundered weapons and armor, they almost looked like a real army.
"Attention!" Morgana screamed, the sheer volume of her voice making Francis jump out of his skin. "We move out now! I might have to step aside once the moon rises, but I'll always be close at hand. Remember that we'll likely be meeting knights, so keep your wits about you. If the deal doesn't pan out, rest assured I can deal with them in wolf form. Don't die stupidly, retreat when necessary!"
They shouted back, a chorus of voices acting as one. "Yes, ma'am!"
They marched down the road in a steady stream of bodies, the metal of their weapons clinking in the quiet evening. Francis's heart beat out of his chest and he was starting to shake. He was just as fearful as he was at the moment of his capture, only now for slightly different reasons. Just like the first time, the trek between the camp and the very spot of his capture felt like forever.
By the time they arrived, the sun had almost set. They hadn't waited long before Morgana excused herself from the scene, disappearing into the woods. In the meantime, he simply stood there, surrounded by armed men and women. He secretly thanked himself for the self-control he'd developed, for if he had much less, he would've been openly panicking.
There was a stiff silence. The fires of the torches crackled, the occasional owl hooted, and leaves crunched underneath the little feet of foxes and badgers, but there was little else to be heard. Then, a distant commotion could be heard. It was unmistakable: the marching of armored feet and the clopping of horse hooves. Someone was on their way.
"Is someone really coming?" Francis thought, mentally preparing himself to make a run at a moment's notice. "There's no way they're actually here to make a deal, unless..."
His thoughts were interrupted when an arrow shot out of the darkness and lodged itself in the neck of one of the bandits. He let out a pained, gargled cry before collapsing on the ground. Yells of alarm rang out, and everyone immediately readied their weapons.
"They're not here to make a deal..." Faidh growled, unsheathing his sword "ready yourselves! Don't fire any arrows until you see the glint of their armor!"
Out of the shadows they charged, men at arms coming to deal with the bandit menace once and for all. They were clad in chainmail and heavy plate armor, led by a captain and his two guards who rode atop horses. There came a terrible clashing of iron and steel as the two forces met. Thinking quickly, Francis fled the scene while everyone was distracted.
Without the element of surprise, the bandits did not fare well. Their armor and weapons were shoddy compared to the knights, and although they fought fiercely, they were quickly felled. Some did a better job of standing their ground, most notably Faidh. He plunged his blade into the neck of a man at arms, before pulling it out and knocking his limp body to the ground. Likewise, Maggie was able to get a few good arrow shots off before falling back. But these were but individuals in a greater storm. The bandits outnumbered them, but they were outmatched. After only a few minutes of fighting, the bandits began to scatter and flee like chaff before the wind.
It seemed the fight was lost, that is, until Morgana arrived on the scene in wolf form. Under the pale light of the moon, she swiftly enacted revenge. Using her immense size, she tore one of the knights off his horse and then bore into him with her razor-sharp claws and teeth. Her sable fur was soon soaked in a deep red as a painful scream rang out in the forest.
The men of York were seized with bewilderment at the sight of this new beast. Their horses whinnied in panic, raising their forehooves with one of the riders even being bucked off. Many men at arms panicked and fled, save for the captain and a few others. Perhaps grasped by a deeply rooted sense of chivalric bravery, they charged the beast with great zeal.
Yet bravery could sometimes resemble stupidity. Just as quickly as they charged in, Morgana knocked them down. Their swords and polearms managed to land a few cuts, but that simply angered her even more. Spears were snapped, and even their armor could not withstand the sheer brute force she levied against them.
The captain of the knights put up the best fight, managing to get a cut on her arm as he galloped past her. He spun his steed around to strike again, but this time, she was ready. She swiftly grabbed him forced him off horseback, and he tumbled to the ground with a clanging thud. He rose to his feet as his horse fled in terror, and he raised his broad shield against her. She clawed at the wood and metal frame, baring her teeth as her ears drew back.
He was just about to retaliate, drawing back his long sword. Before he could thrust his blade forward, he was pushed back with a huge amount of force and disarmed. She swiftly pinned him down to keep him from escaping. Meanwhile, the remaining bandits started killing off the wounded men at arms.
"Who sent you?" She growled, staring into his frightened eyes. "Why did you attack us?!"
"Exactly who you sent the letter to." He said, trembling. "The Duke of York. He knew you had the wrong person; his eldest son is named Edward, and he's nowhere near Northumbria at the moment. But he saw an opportunity to take out the bandits that have been plaguing the borderlands, so he sent us! He didn't know what kind of fight he was sending us into. We thought your She-Wolf title was metaphorical!"
"Well, that's one area where you were mistaken." She spoke, looking down on him with contempt. With a slash of her claws, she killed him in an instant. The battle was over.
