You'd been running- from house to house.

Anywhere that was open and would give you a shortcut and a way out and away from these... damn Danes that were raiding your village and home.

Valuables meant nothing- let them have their fill and want of silver or whatever! All you wanted was your horse. As you hopped out through another window, barely making it out as you felt a pair of hands trying to grab your cloak.

It was the frustrated cry behind you that made you yelp out on instinct as you clutched your own little pairing knife in your hands as you kept running.

You remembered the cardinal rule- don't look back.

Saying it like a mantra in your mind as you panted so hard your lungs were burning in your chest, as salvation seemed so close. But you felt the way your cloak yanked you back into the dirt as you made a coughing sound against the strain of fabric against your neck.

There was a triumphant laugh from the Dane,

"Where are you running off too little flower?" He grinned, and you began to scramble to get away from him, still sliding in the mud- as you rolled away as you heard his heavy footsteps move to step on you- there was a loud crash of a shield meeting your attacker and a sharp cry of retaliation.

Your heart pounding as you turned around backing against the wall of one of the homes trying to stay hidden and small as you watched the confrontation.