"Here," he said, holding out his hand. Curiosity lured her forward, and she slowly moved closer until she could see the figurine in his hands. Saint Peter. She wanted to reach for her prize, but held up her dagger to warn its possessor instead.
She didn’t recognize the young man’s blue eyes or sandy blonde hair. He looked close to her age—seventeen. A thin sheet of metal was wrapped around his torso and secured with leather. Similar pieces had been fitted on the outside of each arm, as well. There were no local blacksmiths that could have made armor like that. A strange bow hung from his shoulder and on his back was a leather pack.
He stared at her.
"I believe this is yours," he said, offering her the figurine. Lana didn’t move. He could have been with the raiders.
"You saved it?" She wondered, taking a single step forward.
"And you, my Lady," he said with a hint of sarcasm. He bowed his head, lifting his eyes to hers.
"I didn’t need saving," she said defiantly.
"And it didn’t take much to do, so there will be no need for recompense."
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