Shredder XXVI
Weapons still sheathed at his side, Gerard pointed his empty palms toward her with a cautionary attempt to indicate that he meant no harm. The gesture was reflexive as he had trouble understanding her dialect. The words echoed a bastardized version of an ancient tongue from the southern wastes, but he couldn’t be sure with adrenalin pounding in his ears.
The tension hung between them, a wall of primal hate and fear that sprung from deep seated wells. The woman looked as if she were contemplating another inquiry, but Gerard stayed her with a simple gesture. One open hand closed to a single finger, begging a few moment’s reprieve that were tacitly granted. The ranger nodded thanks and kept his head bent and gaze averted slightly, one hand, palm up waving down across the woman’s visage.
“The winds are harsh tonight,” he suggested, the sweeping hand coming to rest pointing toward the stew, “Cover and we will discuss events over some food?”
The berserker vanished from the woman’s eyes, and those eyes chanced a downward glance to assess. She took her present state of dress in stride and shifted her stance with graceful ease. From her modest profile pose, she spoke in even tones, “My questions first. Answer them, and we’ll see where we go from there.”
To her credit, Gerard smirked at how well she had concealed the most feminine aspects of her person, yet still maintained such a threatening pose. “Very well,” he replied, standing straight up and relinquishing his battle ready stance, “My name is Gerard Carisson, and I have saved you from death by exposure.”