Donovan blinked a few times wondering what kind of trouble he’d just dug himself into. The woman casually paying his way looked tough, and not in the way your typical mercenary did. Not at all. There was something different, perhaps it was the way her dark eyes appeared sharper than the average man, or maybe the way she had been slugging down amber liquid not long ago. He wasn’t certain, but he knew he should care. Still, the breath of words are a bond of honor. He had asked for work to pay for accommodations and he would do as he was asked. Pride be damned.
He locked gazes with the woman and smiled. “The name’s Donovan. Mercenary and craftsman by trade.” He tried to look unimpressed by the woman. Maybe pride be not so damned after all. He hung his head a bit, “And what might I call my savior?”
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