The mountain pass was narrow.
Pinky walked carefully along the edge, testing each step before committing his weight. One wrong move and the loose stones would send him tumbling into the valley below.
"Husband, look! Pretty flowers!"
Lyriel ran past him toward a cluster of blooms growing from a crack in the cliff face. Her foot hit loose gravel.
She slipped.
Her hand shot out and grabbed the first thing within reach.
Pinky's leg.
They fell together.
The world became a blur of rock and sky and pain.
Pinky's training kicked in. He twisted mid-fall, pulling Lyriel close, positioning himself to take the worst of the impact. Branches snapped. Stones bruised. The ground rushed up to meet them.
Then everything went black.
***
Lyriel woke up in darkness.
Her hands were tied. Her feet were bound. She lay on cold stone, her head throbbing, her body aching.
Firelight flickered somewhere nearby. Shadows moved against stone walls. Voices laughed, rough and cruel.
"The elf's awake."
A face loomed over her. Scarred. Bearded. Eyes glinting with something that made her stomach turn.
"Pretty thing," the bandit said. "We're gonna have fun with you."
Lyriel's blood went cold. She twisted, trying to see around her. Where was the knight? Where was her husband?
There. Against the far wall. Pinky lay unconscious, bound with chains thick enough to hold a horse. Their packs had been torn apart, belongings scattered across the cave floor.
"That one's still out," another bandit said. "Must've hit his head pretty hard in the fall. Lucky for us. He looked strong."
"Forget him. Let's start with the girl."
Hands grabbed her. She screamed.
"HUSBAND!"
The chains broke.
It wasn't a dramatic escape. It wasn't a clever trick. Pinky simply stood up, and the metal links that bound him shattered like glass.
The bandits froze.
Pinky moved.
He didn't have his sword. It didn't matter. His fists were enough. His feet were enough. In seconds, every bandit in the cave was on the ground, screaming, clutching wounds that would never fully heal.
He didn't kill them. But he took something from each. A hand. Cut clean at the wrist. A permanent reminder of what happened to men who preyed on the helpless.
The bandits fled into the night, leaving trails of blood behind them.
Pinky untied Lyriel without looking at her. He gathered their scattered belongings. He found his sword and strapped it to his back.
Then he walked out of the cave, heading back toward the path he had been following.
He hoped she wouldn't follow.
She did, of course.
"My savior," she whispered, hearts practically visible in her eyes. "My hero. My husband."
Pinky kept walking.