Scribble: Things I could not write down at the time.

      There came a pounding at the door, as those gathered within braced themselves for what was to come. As the door finally gave way, bursting from it hinges, the survivors huddled together behind the overturned tables. Only a brave few stood, some quivering, others still, their eyes locked on the shadow outside.
      He entered, a lumbering beast of a man, his pale skin wrought with ink and steel barbs. Prepared to lash out, his cold, grey eyes fell on the faces staring at him.
      A single pair of amber eyes awaited him. There, standing between broad-shouldered men, she stood, her youthful face grim and fierce, a small hare ready to strike at the falcon overhead.
      Staggering back, the beast could not look away from her defiant glare. Though all others possessed such strength to be a challenge, only this small creature forced the cudgel to fall from his hand, as a lone thought filled his mind:
      Is this . . . fear?