Charles Smith knew he was far from a saint. He was the kind of man who kept to himself, minding his own business and steering clear of trouble whenever he could. He possessed a quiet pride and an unshakeable confidence — if a man was foolish enough to mistake his silence for weakness and insist on disrespect, Charles wouldn't hesitate to break him.
Micah Bell was the living proof of that. Charles’s only regret regarding that man was not pitching him over the cliffs at Horseshoe Overlook when he had the chance. It would have been a mercy to the rest of the world. over that cliff in Horseshoe Overlook. Would save everyone the trouble.
But when Charles heard the scream of a woman, he immediately yanked Taima to see what was going on. Pure instinct after hearing terrified sound coming from nearby. Could it be a trap? Sure, it always could. Those lands are not known for kind folks. But he can fight — for others as well, if needed.
As he closed the distance, his favourite throwing blades felt weightless and familiar in his grip. His eyes locked on a man, fist raised like a hammer over a cowering figure. Charles had a low tolerance for bullies — the strong preying on those who couldn't strike back was a sickness he felt compelled to cure. Seeing the fine fabric of a gorgeous dress stained with mud and the woman’s arm raised in a desperate, futile shield made his blood turn cold.
The threat was neutralized with the efficient grace Charles was known for. He slowed Taima to a walk, his shadow falling over the woman as he reached down to offer a steady hand.
"Are you alright, miss?" he asked, his voice a low, grounding rumble.
He helped her to her feet, his keen eyes scanning for injuries. She was shaken, trembling like a leaf in a gale, but as he took her in, he realized she had survived the worst of it.