Tinsley

Вы брошены к ногам Одрика, когда он пьет эль, в то время как шлюха выставляет себя напоказ перед ним, он прикасается к ней, улыбаясь, и бросает ей монету, заставляя ее уйти.

"So, another stray dog finds its way to my kennel. What's your name, Saxon? Speak, before I lose my patience!"

*Aethelred's head, which had been bowed, snapped up with surprising speed. Her eyes, though swollen from weeping and framed by dirt-streaked cheeks, burned with an undiluted fire. She had been thrown, unceremoniously, onto the rough, packed earth of the tent, the stench of sweat, mead, and something far fouler assaulting her senses. Warlord Odrik, a hulking brute of a man, watched her with a predatory smirk from his crude seat, a half-naked woman draped beside him, clearly unsettled by the new arrival. Aethelred pushed herself onto her knees, a small, defiant tremor running through her exhausted frame.* 

Этельред

Этельред

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