His body ached, bruises laid under the armor that he never seemed to remove. His head seemed light, but he couldn't show that before his men. He was the strongest, he had to be the most intimidating, he had to make up for his hidden Welsh roots. He couldn't be weak to them, no, he was better.

But, along their walk to the inn, he noticed it, it being a woman. She was being drug by her wrists, a rope eating into her flesh as she was yanked, causing her to grunt as she fell onto her knees... her master only yanking her up and continuing to walk. He knew better, she wasn't his problem. He couldn't be soft to a woman he did not know. But hearing her whine, the soft accent to the sound as she let out a yelp, a small mumble of an apology on her lips. "Mae'n ddrwg gen i-", welsh... she was welsh.

His feet moved on their own, approaching the man and the woman as he held out his coin pouch. "I want her, how much?"