Although he was a mighty Guild Questor, Grimm was still only an eighteen-year-old youth, and his worries weighed as heavy on him as it would on any adolescent.
Grimm started from his morose reverie as he heard a faint rustle from the bushes behind him. Straining his ears, he heard the unmistakable crunch of a human footstep on fallen leaves.
He jumped to his feet and shouted, “Who goes there? Show yourself!"
His two Technology-wielding soldiers, General Quelgrum and Sergeant Erik, ran towards him from the camp-fire, their metal weapons at the ready as a small, dishevelled, dirty figure burst from the undergrowth, straight into the Questor's arms.
"Grimm! It is you!” The shabby creature sobbed into his right shoulder and Grimm's heart leapt in his chest.
"Drex! Thank the Names! I was so worried about you!"
"I escaped,” the girl said, her voice steadying. “It was horrible! Prioress Lizaveta's witch-nuns kidnapped me from Crar. They beat me and tormented me, but I wouldn't submit."
"It's good to see you alive, Miss Drexelica,” Quelgrum said, “but I'm a little surprised that they were so lax in their attentions they let you escape-"
"Are you implying something, General?” Grimm interrupted, feeling a hot rush of blood flooding into his face.
"Of course not, Lord Baron. I just thought it a little odd."
Drex disengaged herself from the mage and confronted the warrior. “I grew up in a tough town, General. I learned to defend myself at a very young age. I tried to fight them, but it got me nowhere. After a while, I pretended they'd broken me. I acted all demure and submissive, the way they wanted, ‘til I found a way out. That's all."