Bandits Girl by: Faerie_Writer
CHAPTER 2
I was awoken from the slumber that the bandit had put me in, by a painful ache in my stomach where he had hit me. I groaned and tried to push my self up into a sitting position but found my hands tied together.
I was about to try to chew the rope off but then I noticed it was covered in tar, which wasn't the best thing to attempt to eat. This basically meant I was stuck here with no hopes of escape in sight.
Wonderful.
I turned to examine my surroundings, and as I lay on my back I could feel the jarring shocks of the movement underneath me, and smell the musty scent of the hay. The sky above moved at a rapid pace, and I was aware that I was moving in what seemed like a wooden box.
A wagon. I was in a wagon being carted off like livestock to the slaughter.
Once again, wonderful.
"NO MARCO!" A voice cried, "CHRISTIAN SAID YOU ARE NOT TO WAKE HER!"
"Forget Chris, I will do what I want." Marcos rough, voice responded to the cries, suddenly there was Marco's head looming above me.
"Ahhh, I see your already awake princess, that will make my job all the easier." He said, and recoiled when he said princess.
"Do not call me that." I hissed, and Marco looked taken aback.
"Why on Earth not?" Marco asked, "I thought girls LIKED that kind of thing."
"Not this girl," I told him angrily, "You can call me any names, ugly or pretty, that you want, and I will not protest as long as they have nothing to do with nobility."
"Why?" Marco asked, he seemed to ask a lot of questions, "Do you dislike nobility or something?"
"Loathe it." I say, with a serious face. My hatred of any kind of royalty is the one thing I will not deny.
"And so," Marco says, lifting me up out of the cart, and onto a white stallion that stood regally beside him, "I see a point in which we may get a long."
"You hate royalty too?" I ask, as he gets on the horse behind me, his arms keeping me in place securely as he reaches around to hold the reigns.
"Of course," Marco says, as he clucks his tongue, and gently digs his heels into his horse's sides to signal it to move, "why else do you think the cross bandits are formed?"
I frowned at him and he laughed, "I suppose you never heard that story then?" and shook my head.
"Figures," Marco said, "everyone will tell you about our bad deeds but no one will tell you any of our good ones."
Good deeds? As I far as I knew, bandits had no good deeds. Then again, the world was always full of surprises.
The horse galloped on forward, for a little bit, past many of the bandits who were celebrating after their victory, I frowned sourly at them but they took no notice.
When we finally reached the front of what was like a bandit parade, I saw that right at the front was another stallion. This one was a beautiful tan color with a black tipped muzzle, black socks on all four feet, and a flowing black mane.
A mustang.
I gazed at the horse's obvious beauty, for a moment, my hands longed to behind the reigns of that horse, galloping across many plains, through many forests, and along many dirt roads.
But this was impossible, as I was a prisoner.
Not only just that, but the horse already had a rider... the leader of the bandits.
