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Lossė cursed mentally. There was no way to pretend she had been attempting anything less than pickpocketing the man; her slim hands still gripped the leather of his purse, as his fierce blue-grey eyes bored intently into her. She froze, more out of frustration and caution than fear, and her grey eyes blazed.
"It's not wise to try and pick a Ranger's purse, young lady," the man growled at her. "Though I'll indulge your pride and say that you would have gotten away with it, if the Valar hadn't given me the urge to move at that moment. I'll confess to being curious though. What's a daughter of Men- and one with blood of Nśmenor at that- doing picking pockets in the heart of the Shire?"
Lossė tried to struggle against his arm, but her captor was far stronger than the slim girl. Her eyes cast about for a possible rescuer as she listened with half an ear to the man's gruff voice. She didn't dare say a word.
"So stay and sit for a moment, and I'll let go, you young kitten! I'm old and lonely and you have the look of a girl who's somewhat lonely herself. And I'd like to indulge my curiosity, although..." Estahir's voice trailed off here. "... although that's gotten me into trouble in the past."
Lossė's natural curiousity perked up at that, and when the man bid her leave if she please and released her arm, she stayed, folding her hands in front of her with a lady-like demur. "I'm Lossė, sir. I'm from Minas Tirith, out here so as to keep out of trouble I can't handle." A flash of grey eyes into sudden stormy blue gave the man a quick glimpse of the lass's true personality: fiery and vivid. "And I'm not sorry for trying to take your coin. I'm having a bad day: probably couldn't lift a trinket off a corpse if this luck holds."
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