Yet to be named, pt29

At least the drop wasn't very long. Her feet were probably slightly below the stable roof. She let go of the now useless pipe and rolled on the ground to mitigate the fall.

It wasn't an ideal roll. The landing was too heavy and she almost certainly bruised her shoulder. Still, it was better than breaking a leg, or worse. The pipe landed on the cobbles right next to her with a clank.

Or that, if she was just a little to the left. Enough slacking behind. She got up and rushed into the stables. At the far end, Alvaren was about to finish strapping the sacks onto their place at the sides of the saddle. He looked her up and down as she snatched the reins from his hands and furiously tucked at the horse. He followed.

She was pale. Pale with fear, clearly. Was she like that last night? He didn't think so. He shuddered at the thought. That meant serious trouble. Worse so, the horse was fast asleep just a moment ago and was very reluctant to leave its resting place at such an hour. He would much rather be in bed too, given the state of his leg. But fate didn't quite agree to these needs. And what was he to do other than agree as well?

Getting out of the stable took much more time and effort than it should have. Luckily, the mob was nowhere to be seen. In fact, the street was completely empty. He got onto the saddle with some help from Shirral. She jumped on it without trouble. It just reminded him how much he hated his wound.