The Forest Talker, a square, solid person, has their knee in the small of Goodsir's back as they tie his hands roughly. They're so engaged in their task that they don't hear Fitzjames until he speaks.
They look up sharply; their face is muffled in a bandana and it's impossible to tell if they're male or female. But they are wary and dangerous, and they draw their own gun.
"Interloper," they hiss, an insult. "Piss off and maybe I'll let you go. Come closer and your friend gets it in the head."
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The Forest Talker, a square, solid person, has their knee in the small of Goodsir's back as they tie his hands roughly. They're so engaged in their task that they don't hear Fitzjames until he speaks.
They look up sharply; their face is muffled in a bandana and it's impossible to tell if they're male or female. But they are wary and dangerous, and they draw their own gun.
"Interloper," they hiss, an insult. "Piss off and maybe I'll let you go. Come closer and your friend gets it in the head."