Naaramare did not need the brigand's warning. She didn't even need to attempt to tap into her uncooperative not-quite-memories to tell her that when someone has a knife to your neck, you don't struggle, lest you should die.
But it was those uncooperative not-quite-memories that reminded her how to twist out of the way when the brigand fell. Still, the blade brushed lightly against the underside of her chin, stinging badly as she rolled away.
She scrambled to her feet and ducked away, cursing the brigand in all the languages she knew, and some that she only knew the curses out of. Not quite sure what had caused the brigand to stumble, the incident had brought one thing very clear:
I need to remember how to use a weapon. Or learn again. Soon.
|