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Damien
His voice muffled by the cursed glove covering his mouth, he nevertheless swears violently at his lapse of concentration. Briefly, he contemplates retaliation... ~ Yet a wrong move, and my neck would be slashed and I would die a pathetic death ~ His fists clench tightly ~ And after all, it's just money... ~
Reaching into his pocket with his left hand, he draws out his money pouch and drops it onto the ground. In the next few seconds, he senses the intruder reaching out with his left hand to pick his loot and keeping it.
The blade on his throat disappears and he spins around to see a shadow dashing off into the woods.
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