Run out of a village again.
Durga growled in annoyance, kicking a rock as she trudged on over to a fallen, rotting tree and sat on the broad trunk, which creaked beneath her. She could breathe again, finally, now that the village was miles behind her with no signs of pursuers, but gods! Humans. She hated them!
With a huff, she slung her pack off her shoulder and to the ground. It was a lie, of course. She didn't hate anyone, but she was sure as hell frustrated that they all seemed to hate her. She had more luck some places than others, and she supposed it shouldn't have come as a surprise that the stupid, backwater, mountain pass town would be full of stupid, backwater, ignorant people.
Pushing back her sleeve, she glowered down at the wrapped gash on her forearm. It was a deep wound; the woman that had slashed her had caught her unprepared while she'd warded off the other angry townsfolk. Blood had soaked the makeshift bandage, but the bloodstain hadn't spread any further, so hopefully that meant it was done bleeding. With a sigh, she started to unwrap it so she could wash and tend it properly, instead of the hurried job she'd done while...well...
Fleeing.