Salmeter stood at the outpost, the weight of his blade pressed against his hand, glaring down at the three men kneeling before him.
His face, a mask of barely contained fury.
"What do you mean, she escaped?" Salmeter demanded again, his voice a low, lethal warning.
The pockmarked fool still held his broken nose as he blubbered, rushing to explain.
"By Saints, it all happened so fast. She hit me in the groin as I came in to feed her and she stole my knife!"
"Yes! Yes! She stole his knife!" Gunther interjected, eyes full of fear.
"We underestimated her. I've never seen anyone run so fast and then she jumped!"
"We reached out to help her but that little wench just dove straight down the waterfall like a mad woman!"
"The current ought to have killed her by now. No one survives that thing!"
The more they spoke, the hotter his rage boiled. Regrets washed over him for ever entrusting these drunk, incompetent fools with something his Duke had personally ordered him to.
