#Thorn had to have tiny wing clothes made just for her <3< /div> Explore tagged Tumblr posts

[thegeminidraws]

We interrupt this scheduled posting to bring you... a tiny baby Ira 💖

(Yes she has little chickin nugget wings, halp)

[shiftingpath]

to my Exalted Secret Santa

Three options under the cut:

Ledaal Manus, Twilight Caste Solar Spymaster Cathak Argon, “The Forge of Melted Chains”, Slayer Caste Infernal Prince Black Wings to Blot the Sky, Day Caste Abyssal Renegade

1) Ledaal Manus, Twilight Caste Solar Spymaster

Manus is a beautiful, feminine, very privileged young Dynast-turned mastermind of the clock city of Towersong. He acts as social prep/cleaner and advisor to his small Circle, and specializes in seeing everything and making people underestimate him so he can work freely.

He is extremely pretty in a soft, gentle way. He dresses in a sort of semi-Victorian style he’s borrowed from Thorns, brocade vests and slim trousers and so on. He still likes the very high collars and wide sleeves common in Realm fashion, though. He is slim and around average height. His skin is very pale (though should still be recognizably Realm in ethnicity, which for our Creation is closest to Chinese). His right eye is icy pale blue, and his left is a darker, warmer blue (having had it replaced after the original was cut out by a Lunar). His hair used to be white graded to blue at the bottom, kept in a four-foot braid down his back, but recently Ligier chopped it off in an ill-advised duel. Now it falls just below his jaw, short at the back and longer in the front, pure white, and he keeps it pinned back, sometimes with the longer front “french braided” along his scalp. (Drawing either is totally fine.) He wears small oval spectacles and especially loves wearing purple. He has a strong aversion towards displaying skin, so covers up to his neck, down to his wrists, but if it is relevant, he has a brand around one bicep- a chain with a crown linking it like a lock.

He idolizes his Air Aspect father, and often wears a piece of pale blue clothing as if it were his token. Though he has a lot more jewellery, he almost always wears a simple gold circlet on his brow, a brass gear ring nailed through his finger, and a silver pin (on his cravat or coat) of an upright-pointing clock hand, a human hand before it, an eye on the palm- a gift from his Zenith queen when she appointed him her Hand.

He is brilliant and cunning and a dedicated problem-solver, which are put to the test in his role as right hand to one of the queens of the city. (He is always up to his neck in paperwork and responsibilities and happy about it. A consummate bureaucrat, he is Bureaucracy Supernal.) He fights using the sword he pulled from a tree (fulfilling local prophecy at the time), the long and delicate moonsilver-and-starmetal daiklave Silver Riddle. Having recovered his long shorn braid from Ligier, Silver Riddle now wears it like a tassel. He also occasionally uses one of a matched set of artifact assassin blades, the Sun-and-Wind Talons. Manus’ has the image of an orichalcum sun laid over a blue jade sky, but he usually keeps it hidden under his sleeve. In combat he fights with Solar Melee and the counter attack-focused evocations of Silver Riddle, and for sneaky purposes has a little training in two separate Martial Arts styles concerning assassination.

He is a Solar Circle sorcerer, initiated in all three times via scrying into the depths of the giant clock he lives on. He has three signature spells: a clock version of Corrupted Words (which flares his eyes with a subtle emerald flash), Lost Hour’s Offering (in which he uses weird clock magic to remove memories, taking the form of him ringing an ornate hand-bell), and The Titan’s Held Breath (in which he steps between the spaces between Autochthon’s laboured breaths and can run through a strange green-hued clock dimension until he either passes out from nausea or he chooses to allow time to function again).

His anima banner is gold in the center and fluxes to reds and purples towards the edges. The image is a hand presented like the Vitruvian Man, fingers extended and closed simultaneously. An eye opens wide in the palm. Lines of proportion encircle the fingers and their joints and extend out into the rest of the world to display the symmetry of Creation.

Reference:

Normal clothes 1 2 3

His stupid yachting costume

“Savage warrior of Karn” clothes

= = =

2) Cathak Argon, “The Forge of Melted Chains”, Slayer Caste Infernal Prince

Argon’s backstory is Extremely Second Edition and will be under construction until whatever year Infernals are released. However, here is what is not confidential:

Argon was raised in House Cathak alongside his twin sister Araka, raised to believe that obedience to his superiors was right and good, and that it felt right and good, and that his superiors deserved his unquestioning loyalty and admiration. His sister learned alongside him, but all she took away was that the strong get what they want. She exalted as a Fire Aspect, and the two attended the House of Bells together, Argon praying to exalt every step of the way. Araka’s carelessness with her power and her personal abuse of his loyalty to her were key to convincing Argon that his superiors did not, in fact, deserve his loyalty. A metody, one of the acid Malfean elementals, took advantage of his onset of doubt to offer him the demons’ bargain. He exalted as a Slayer, and fled the Isle. Araka, always pressing their relationship beyond that of brother and sister, refused to accept his fate, and wastes countless resources pursuing him wherever she finds a trace of his passing.

Argon is not particularly tall, with a slim build, but is muscled like a lightweight boxer. His skin tone was originally the same as Araka’s, a natural sallow skin native to the Isle, both with brown hair, but as her exaltation brought out ruddy auburn tones in her skin and hair, Argon’s turned his more yellow, mimicking the virulent acid of his co-adjutor. His hair is pulled in a ponytail, and it writhes with uncomfortably living force; distinctly more disturbing than the way an Air Aspect’s hair might blow in unseen breezes, Argon’s seems more to twitch and curl like some strange animal. His eyes are a brilliant acid yellow, and he smells of brimstone. In all ways, he is meant to mimic a Dragon-Blood of Malfean element, with the same sort of elemental “Tells” aspected towards the demonic.

He wears essentially a House of Bells training outfit slightly pimped up to look more majestic. Grey soft clothes underneath, maroon and red tabard over top, with a bright yellow band to signify his loyalties. He bears a yellow jade short spear partially encased in basalt, the Standard of the Beggar-King. From just below the head he has flown a long pennant, bearing only a field of solid black laced with brilliant green pavement cracks. He wears a tainted iron hearthstone amulet after conquering a brutally physically punishing manse in Malfeas itself, and has set a Gem of Infernal Regeneration into it. As a result the scars he bears from his time in the House of Bells and later in Malfeas have filled with basalt; the most noticeable ones are across his nose and cheeks and one deep one in one shoulder, though several smaller ones splash across his arms and torso.

Argon tries to be patient, noble, stern and proud, and emulate the virtues of the Prince as taught in his childhood. He has come to regard the Isle as corrupt, but still believes that a good, benevolent leader exists, in the form of his patron, the Brass Dancer Malfeas, whom he knows almost nothing about and only caught a glimpse of, dancing, for a few minutes once. He believes that he is destined to be the treasured, benevolent leader of some nation, and that he just hasn’t found it yet. His surety that people want to follow strong, loving leaders is somewhat undermined by his powers, which lace him with radioactive essence and punish the slightest misstep on the part of his devoted followers. He is trying his best to believe that he hasn’t signed on to the wrong team, and steadily and stubbornly turns his eyes from any proof that he might not be the worthy leader he believes he is.

He has By Rage Recast (3rd Edition willing), so whenever he goes iconic he transforms into a gargoyle-like beast (an Argoyle), with talons on his hands and feet, a thick tail, bright yellow armored scaling, sometimes black horns, if you liked Gargoyles the feel of it is ripped right out of that. His caste mark is a searing green X as if cut by a blade, and his anima banner is a broken crown with a cracked emerald in its brow.

Reference:

1 2 3

= = =

3) Black Wings to Blot the Sky, Day Caste Abyssal Renegade

Wings was raised as a princess in one of the tiny nations of the Hundred Kingdoms. It was expected that she would be married to broker some allegience, and was made into a creature of beauty and desire, with pure white hair nearly to her knees, unblemished rosy skin, and tattooed with a pattern of white lilies down her body. She would rather have died, and she did.

The princess would have been laid to rest in a state ceremony unlike any her tiny nation had ever seen, had anyone been able to find her body. But as soon as the touch of death came upon her, she rose a different creature. Shearing their hair off, they bound their chest with a strip of cloth ripped from their closet of sumptuous gowns. Clinging to shadows, they left their realm, following the call of something deep and terrible.

Wings is small of build but raring to go. Their hair is still pure white at the sides, cropped short, but they’ve grown the rest into a wild mohawk and dyed it bright red. Their skin is an ashen grey, and they still bind with a strip of no-longer-white cloth that was once a very nice dress. They have been training in martial ways since they left home, and they wear a pair of soft, baggy pants and a red sash around their waist. They have the old style pointed deathknight ears, pierced with several silver rings, and their bottom lip has a thick silver ring as well. Their eyes are crimson, and their cheeks are tattooed with a crest of black points to denote their royalty. The lily tattoo is still in evidence, but they’ve been tattooed many more times since, marred with black bands like shackles and barbed wire from their brief time at the Walker’s side.

During that time, they dressed considerably more princely, with fine, high-necked black tunics and scarves, ornate silver armor set with jet and garnets. They left that all behind in a mirror of their exaltation, when they realized how awful the Walker really was, though they kept the oversized soulsteel smashfists he gave them. Wings has no intention of returning those, and is kind of fiercely enjoying the idea of the fight they’ll give the Walker if he tries to retrieve them. They still tend to throw on scarves sometimes, looping them over their shoulders like dark wings, and they have a weakness for garnets.

They’re a little hotblooded these days, trying to play it cool and not attract too much attention, but unable to stop themself from interfering when their temper gets the best of them. They tend to swear a lot of very earnest and compelling oaths, which they have to grudgingly follow through on in the sober light of day.

Their anima starts as a halo of ominous darkness like a storm in the evening, and culminates in a rushing cloud of bats, their detail reduced to nothing but rapid beating wings, white teeth, and shrieking horror.

I don’t have a design for the smashfists but i’d love to see them on either renegade wanderer Wings or loyal new servant Wings with their full deathknight regalia. They’re originally from a concept where all deathknights can turn into bats so like, forgive furry Wings in the references

Reference:

1 2

[annastrxng]

Chapter #3 The Great Escape or the Great Defeat

Continued from here X , X 

                   Tough Conversations and Unexpected Answers

Hewlett steadies their pace as they reach the first line of trees. While he knows that they must make haste, they can’t afford to crash through the woods like two startled deer. It would only bring undesired trouble down upon their heads. Erring on the side of vigilance, he steps into the woods with Anna still pressed close to his side. There was no way in Hell he was going to risk losing her. Particularly, not while escaping. To lose Anna again, would be to completely forfeit his heart and his humanity.

Anna is content to remain close to the Major’s side. Where Hewlett is, she knows she will find safety, friendship, and comfort. Especially, when he has gone through such extreme measures on her behalf. No one has ever done as much to keep her alive as Edmund has; not even some of her dearest friends.

“Tread lightly,” Edmund murmurs. His tone is barely audible to his own ears above the thundering of his heart. He hopes that his words are just loud enough to reach Anna’s. Root-beer and foam hues shift to observe if the light of recognition will appear within the brunette’s eyes in regard to his command.

Edmund’s hushed words startle her from her muddied thoughts. Anna’s maple-syrup pools flicker over to the Major, taking a fraction of a moment to saturate in his words and their meaning. Heeding his warning, Anna ventures guardedly forward. Her fingers instinctively grab at where her long skirts usually hung, to lift them out of the way, only to clasp thin air. A sigh of relief escapes her as she discovers how much easier breeches made traversing the rough terrain. Traveling through the thickets and dense brush usually took ages and a great deal of care. Especially, when worrying about ripping the delicate and expensive fabric of skirts. In a uniform, no such attentiveness was required.

The first few crackles of twigs beneath their feet and the flapping wings of fleeing birds drive the Major’s gaze back to the clearing. Anxiety fills his veins and pulses rhythmically inside of his chest. Realizing that no alert patrol is racing in their direction, he allows himself to relax a little.

When they get far enough away from the camp, Hewlett grabs Anna’s arm and encourages her to proceed as fast as she finds possible. He knows that she is probably not only injured but also dehydrated and starving. Those were additional problems he’d be sure to remedy as soon as he could. Right now, he had to make sure they evade capture.

The lingering shadows are slow in their retreat of the forest, hampering the swift progress of their plight. At every turn, there were awkwardly jutting out branches, thick thistles, sharp thorn bushes, and unevenly raised roots. Fortunately, Edmund and Anna happen to be agile enough to dodge a good number of the unexpected obstacles. Those that couldn’t be avoided were dealt with as appropriately and quietly as possible.

“This way….” He breathes. The tension parting from between his grinding teeth as he brings her to the precipice of a rather steep embankment.

Without hesitation, Anna follows his direction.

Turning to look over their shoulders, Edmund severely miscalculates the slant of the slope combined with the power of the dew-slicked grass. As a result, in the very next moment, both he and Anna were suffering the brunt of his rash choice, slipping haphazardly downwards. The harder they try to catch themselves, the more helplessly they plummet. Twigs and branches crack and pop in thunderous chorus under the sudden weights.

The brunette lets out a muffled cry as she lands beside the Major with a terrible bone-jarring thump. She didn’t immediately stir which, quite frankly, alarms Edmund.

“Anna? Are you alright?” The Major questions rather breathlessly. He rolls onto his side to inspect her. “Are you hurt?” His soft voice demands.

She shakily inhales before answering, “I’m… I’m fine. L…Let’s keep g...going.” It was a tiny white lie. One she hopes he cannot see through. Anna couldn’t deny that it was difficult rising back onto her feet from her crumpled position on the ground. However, her stubborn pride drives her to do it without help.

Anna’s bruised middle was giving her more trouble than Edmund approves of. He is able to tell by the way she hesitantly picks herself up and starts to move about, unintentionally nursing her sides with her arms. To his surprise, not a word of complaint is uttered by her.

Brushing the dirt from their uniforms, they return to the escape. This time, Edmund keeps their path on the lower and more even ground in an effort to avoid any further mishaps like the one they just endured. 

The sun gradually appears from behind splashes of dark-iron grey clouds which, are highlighted with the softest pastels of rosy pink and pale yellow. The increase in light is both a blessing and a curse. It is a blessing in that there would be no more need to second guess footing or struggling against unseen obstacles. Adversely, it is a curse, for their movements will be far easier to spot because of the scarlet shade of their uniforms. The vibrant red practically screams ‘notice me’ against the dull browns of branches and the deep greens of the pines and wild grass.  

“Anna?” Major Hewlett’s hushed voice finally breaks the silence that had somehow settled between them.

Jilting slightly, the brunette’s gaze immediately locks upon him. “Yes, Edmund?” She pauses, still lifting a branch from between their faces. The brunette does her best to muster up a patient smile for him while she awaits his next words.

“Is this...what it is like to be a…a rebel spy? Skulking about in the woods at all hours?” He bravely and rather curiously questions. Edmund genuinely wishes to understand what she has put herself through for her beliefs. Beliefs he knows Anna was and is still prepared to die for. Why? He could not fathom.

His inquiry was met with hesitation as Anna reflects upon her past missions for Washington. She lets the branch drift through her fingers while she formulates a response. There was something about the rough bark brushing against her callous fingertips that dredged up even the most remote task she had undertaken for the Cause. Was it safe to speak so openly about her sedition and treason? The brunette figures that she can confide in Edmund and only in him. Anna knows she owes him at least that much for saving her life. However, she would never give up the names of her co-conspirators. 

The silence caused the Major to assume that she did not desire to answer. He prepares to let the subject drop when Anna’s voice smoothly enters the air. 

“Aye. Sometimes it was a good deal like this and... others,” she pauses. “Others, it was going into social situations where we could obtain the information we were seeking.” The words fall from her lips with a casual and almost distant flare. Tilting her head slightly to the side she continues, “I must confess, there was one time, I attended a party at Major John Andre’s, dressed as an actress and a woman of questionable repute.” A hint of soft laughter plays over her lips at her confession. Even more-so at the awkwardness of recollecting what it was like to seduce a rather unattractive high-ranking Regular. Regrettably, spying was far from a glamorous and virtuous activity. It was a disgraceful and often shameful undertaking. 

Unfortunately, Edmund had chosen the wrong moment to take a drink from the flask, that every so often switched hands between them, and he choked. “You… you did what?” He sputters, his voice gruff and gravely.

Anna flashes a worried expression in his direction as Hewlett chokes. Concernedly the brunette moves closer to him. “It be true. I dressed as an actress and a woman of ill-repute to get into Andre’s party. If you so desire, you may ask Abraham Woodhull. He was there too.”

The Major has a nearly impossible time envisioning his sweet Anna wearing the clothes of a woman who, men would feel free to ogle and touch in an undignified and indecorous manner. His cheeks burn with a wholly unnatural blush that comes from a cross of anger, amusement, and disbelief. If Edmund had seen her in that situation, he was fairly certain he would have gotten furious with his fellow officers for their indecent behavior. He probably would have stepped in at the first sign of impropriety and escorted Anna home.

There was no need for him to gather verbal affirmation from Abraham as proof that Anna was speaking true. Woodhull had done enough to sabotage his relationship with Ms. Strong. He would not, under any circumstances, allow the man to get between them a second time. Besides, Anna was the more honest of the two rebel spies. 

Dismissing the thoughts, Hewlett lowly grumbles, “I’m afraid you were able to accomplish what I could not. The man never invited me to any of his parties and I worked for the same side.”

Letting out a sigh, Anna replies. “I assure you, Edmund, his parties were not worth attending. They were affairs for uncouth and obnoxious reg- ...soldiers attempting to deflower actresses.” She almost slips and says, ‘Regulars’ but at the last-minute, given her present company and uniform, she politely changes it to ‘soldiers’. The last thing she desires to do is antagonize or insult the Major. 

Hewlett catches her unintentional slip and grimaces. He gently grinds his teeth, despising the fact that she has such a low opinion of his chosen side. Although if he were being honest, there were individuals like Simcoe who tarnished whatever uniform they donned by terrorizing the innocent civilians. He did not fault her for being so disenchanted with the King’s men considering all she had endured at their hands. 

It was also no secret that Hewlett did not feel favorably or very hospitable towards Anna’s side; even if he is partial to her company. He too had been forced to endure harsh treatment. However, his had come at the hands of the Rebels. He nods, silently agreeing with her. From the sounds of things, he would have felt entirely out-of-place among the other party attendees.

“There were a few times, where we just barely escaped danger,” Anna adds, before he could so much as speak a word or change the subject. “Thanksgiving, after I left you….” she starts, before letting her voice drift off.

“After you left me in York City what happened?” Edmund quizzes, stepping protectively over to her. It sounds rather ominous and he can feel the apprehension swirling in the pit of his stomach as if, it were a powerful hurricane about to make landfall.  

The brunette swallows sharply. Her eyes flash with the light of remembrance. “I…I had a rather unfortunate run-in with Robert Rogers. At gunpoint, I was forced to sit on his lap and share a less than amicable dinner with him,” she confesses with a shudder.  Anna reluctantly continues,“moments after Rogers left, Captain Simcoe arrived.”

Hewlett’s eyes widen in astonishment. He scarcely believes his ears as she relates the events of the past Thanksgiving to him. It appears that the Major did not know Anna nearly as well as he believed he had. In one night, Anna’s festivities were far more exhilarating than his entire experience in the war had been. That is, until now.

His own Thanksgiving had been spent mourning the loss of her company, dipping into mugs of horrible tasting ale in an effort to forget all she had meant to him. Even as he attempted to drown his sorrow, memories of her had remained engraved upon every waking thought and dream. She somehow managed to possess him. 

Hearing her words, Edmund wonders if Anna had been placed in grave peril because of him. If only he had been opened to hear what she was willing to tell him at that York City tavern instead of out-rightly dismissing her, maybe she would have been spared the terrible experience. Perhaps, they wouldn’t have both become fugitives of the King’s justice.

He visibly tenses when the brunette mentions that she had run into Simcoe and Rogers on the same day. “I expect you were quite resourceful. How did you manage to escape the famed Rogers and Captain Simcoe?” Edmund queries, before he can stop himself. Anna Strong was a woman of great intrigue and mystery. It only made him feel all the more drawn to her.

“Rogers didn’t want me. I suppose that was my saving grace. He was bound and determined to gather information on some woman that had captured Major Andre’s attention. Information that my one friend readily supplied him with to avoid further hostilities. As for escaping Captain Simcoe, I had just exited the same friend’s house when the Rangers arrived. He was about one hundred yards away from me at one point. Thankfully, I was with others who were well armed and well versed in slipping into the night unnoticed. Had it not been for them, I might have ended up coming face-to-face with him.” Anna returns rather bashfully. Until she had spoken of the incident aloud, the brunette hadn’t realized just how blessed she was that Caleb had been there to organize the escape. 

The brunette recounts her memories in such a fashion that Edmund cannot help but, be impressed and troubled at the same time. What she does and had done, took courage, strength, and a steely resolve. All of these traits continually exhibited in Anna, are paramount pillars in the making of an incredibly brilliant asset and spy. No one would suspect her of being involved with the meddlesome rebels. Therefore, her activities continued to go virtually undetected. That is, until she had gotten caught a few days ago.

Hewlett has seen first hand that Ms. Strong is exceedingly clever when it comes to the art of the clandestine and in the setting of well-made traps. She also has a matchless affinity for reading people and thinking fast on her feet which, marries well to her impulsive nature. That is, most of the time.

Edmund cannot help but think that Anna is one of the wisest and most cunning of women he has ever met. There is, in his opinion, a good chance that she alone could outsmart the entirety of England’s forces. That is, if she had half a mind to. Not even Rogers and Captain Simcoe who, both have considerable experience in hunting down treasonous individuals, so much as gave Anna consideration when investigating potential members of the rebel-run spy-ring. A ring that is still operating right under their noses. He has no doubt that their success is due to the clever casting of roles like Anna’s within the group. 

While it shames Edmund that she had duped him as well, he was thankful that he had once thought her to be a loyalist. It is what allowed him to fall for her in the first place. He wouldn’t exchange that experience for anything; not even for half of the King’s gold.

“It is fortunate for you, that neither Rogers or Simcoe have discovered your true leanings,” Hewlett murmurs. Internally, he thanks his lucky stars that he was able to rescue her from the fate captured spies were destined to suffer. Swallowing thickly Hewlett continues, “Since we last parted company, I’ve heard talk that Simcoe...” the name is spat with venom, “has lost even further control of his anger. Some say, that Colonel Cook had to admonish him for burning Setauket farms, destroying much-needed army supplies, and going on a ruthless killing streak.”

This was the first Anna was hearing of Simcoe’s recent belligerent behavior. It is not the kind of news she relishes. Her stance tenses and chills crawl down her spine at Hewlett’s words. While it was not completely out of Simcoe’s character to be violent, Anna couldn’t remember seeing him mad enough to openly commit arson and murder. He usually did it with relatively few witnesses, if any, around. Surely, something had set the Captain off in order for him to make his anger well-known. Silently she prays that this was not an unintentional repercussion of her last slight against him.

The brunette’s mind immediately turns to her former home and a sense of unsettling yearning wells up within her. If she was being entirely honest, Anna really wanted to return to the comforts of her home. However, it is nothing more than a fanciful dream. The Setauket of her youth had been forever morphed into an unrecognizable town. A town, where tyranny, division, and bloodshed marred the once joyous and quiet land. 

The rebel spy doesn’t want to know the specifics of what Simcoe has done. For if she was given any explicit details about the occurrences, she’d abandon her escape in order to give the Queen’s Ranger a piece of her mind or a bullet to the head. 

Begrudgingly, Anna lets the tattered fragments of the world she longs to cling to, slip away as if, it was nothing more than the morning fog dissolving into nothingness. In the mists retreat, a new line of inquiries became present. One she has scarcely been brave enough to approach before. Perhaps, now would be a good time to make them.

“Major? If I may, do you recall when you returned to the tavern to find Simcoe comforting me? The night you returned from the Rebel camp?” She ponders sheepishly. 

“Ah…. yes. Of course, I remember. What of it?” Edmund inquires, in return. His gaze is torn between her and the uncharted path before them.

“Well,” Anna starts, her fingers playing nervously with the buttons on the uniform jacket. “There is something I have been meaning to ask. Did you and Simcoe meet in the rebel camp? Or…..” Her voice trails off as she peers up at him. The brunette wasn’t entirely certain. She suspected that there had been a double meaning locked somewhere within the conversation that had transpired between the two men. As often as Anna puzzles over the strange exchange, she could not figure out why both Hewlett and Simcoe had brought several armed men along for a simple conversation with her. After all, the Tavern had been closed for the evening. Had they been expecting a sudden escalation of violence or something?

Hewlett’s progress comes to an abrupt halt, his face practically draining of color at her seemingly innocent probing. He draws up to his full height and stiffly answers. “Yes. Simcoe came to me in the rebel camp. He intended to vanquish me and I stabbed him in self-defense. Why is it that you ask, Anna?” He can’t help but wonder if imparting the knowledge of the events changes the way she views him. His soft and pleading eyes search her desperately for any indication that his actions had come across as unnecessarily savage.

Something about the look Edmund gave her along with his admission made her heart ache as if, it had suddenly become more bruised than her sides. The brunette purses her lips for a moment, fighting back a sob. The delicate features of her face turn a ghastly shade of fresh snow-white. She suddenly feels nauseous from how violently her stomach churns. “Edmund? I….”

“Yes?” He implores, far too curious for his own good. He can’t imagine what has her so troubled. His brows slowly furrow together. A trillion thoughts race through his mind only to be silenced as she starts to speak again. 

“I… I must confess, I went to Captain Simcoe in an effort to secure your safe release. I thought him a man of honor, but I was wrong….” She all but sobs. “Will you forgive me for being so naive and for almost getting you killed?” Anna beseeches.

His eyes narrow in confusion and then widen in surprise, in the span of one blink. This new development completely stuns Edmund. He wasn’t even sure what to say in response. “W... wait? You sought out Simcoe to obtain my freedom?” He attempts to ascertain as if, she had by chance, misspoken.

“Aye,” Anna returns, her tone radiating with embarrassment. “I…” A visible shudder shoots like static electricity down her spine. She should have known the Queen’s Ranger wasn’t going to help his romantic rival. Yet, there had been nowhere else for her to turn. “I...I had no other choice. Captain Wakefield refused to venture across the Sound to retrieve you, n...no matter how fervently I begged and entreated.” She sputters in explanation. Her gaze lowers and abruptly shifts away from him in an effort to conceal the twinkling orbs of silver lining her lower lashes.

Hewlett cannot comprehend what compelled Anna to take such a risk with her life and well-being. He knows how deeply she despises Simcoe and his actions by how openly Anna helps to plot his demise. Another more disturbing thought sweeps into his mind. It brings a stormy change over his countenance. “What did he make you promise in exchange for my rescue?” Edmund eagerly questions, his voice giving off a low resounding growl. His jaw shifts sharply from side to side in an effort to dispel the anger boiling through his veins. He knows how much the Captain loathes him. Hewlett is also very aware of how relentlessly Simcoe pursues Anna. He swallows sharply, fearing the worst.

The Major’s fingers ball into fists at his side. If Simcoe were standing right in front of him, Hewlett would have been tempted to wipe him off the very face of the Earth. He should have killed the man when he had the chance. His failure to do so may have been and may still be a very costly error. One he silently vows to never repeat.

Anna can almost feel his disappointment before she even delivers an answer to his prompting. She swallows thickly before saying, “o….only… a... a kiss.” However, she does not allow her eyes to meet his. Instead, they focus on some point in the far off distance. The brunette does not wish to see his potentially wounded reaction for fear that it might permanently ingrain itself into her memory.

Edmund can feel the very breath being snatched from his lungs at her reply. The despicable Captain had used his absence to harass the poor tavern-maid with his unwanted affections. This offense was absolutely unforgivable and John Graves Simcoe would be made to pay for it. He lets out a slow and shaky exhale. 

Still, the look of extreme shame did not suit Anna’s face and he quickly places a hand upon her shoulder. The other hand gingerly directs her gaze back to him. “I am thankful that you went to such great lengths to see me returned. I could never and would never hold the fact that he demanded a kiss from you, against you. What you did was very sweet and I appreciate it, Anna. However, it is my sincerest wish that you do not endanger yourself in that way again.” Edmund calmly manages to say.  

Tear-filled maple-syrup pools regard Edmund as he speaks. It was funny how with such a gentle touch he could focus her attention and drown out the humiliation she felt. Truly, Hewlett was a one of a kind. A man very deserving of every ounce of love she could ever possibly give. 

Anna quietly responds, “I would gladly do whatever it takes to see a good and decent man, like you, remains unharmed.” It is an honest answer for she abhors seeing innocent people suffer.

This is part of the reason that Edmund had fallen so helplessly in love with her. Ms. Strong did what she felt was right no matter its potential cost to her. However, he refuses to completely condone her reckless senses of cunning and bravery. For what if, those attributes he so avidly admires, would lead to her destruction? 

Edmund patiently but sternly scolds her. “Anna, I admire your sense of dedication, virtue, and moral, but I can not bear to think of you in harm’s way. Especially, not on my behalf. So please, I beg of you, do not go inviting trouble in the future. Okay?” He desires no answer less than a ‘yes’ from her; even if he knows it will most likely be another lie. His root-beer and foam shaded hues remain transfixed upon her.

Begrudgingly, Anna finds herself agreeing with him. How could she tell her rescuer that she intended to stay the course and continue to act impulsively on the behalves of others? She couldn’t. Especially, while peering into his warm and forgiving eyes. “If that be your request, then I shall strive to do so,” she murmurs.

Finding her answer satisfactory, he releases Anna and encourages her to keep walking. While they remain in motion, the threat of being caught is minimized. Time and distance would certainly work to their advantage. At least, for now.

However, Edmund couldn’t dismiss a nagging feeling that danger was sneaking up on them the way a fox does its prey.

Stay Tuned for Chapter 4 & possibly 5. Both of which, are already drafted ;D - there is an abundance of fluff and danger to come. XDDD