Don't think, act

I blinked.

He died.

I stepped back from the pitchfork, leaving it sticking from the throat of the boy. His expression never changed, I don't think either of us expected the suddenness of the act, the surety of it. I staggered back, feeling the slightest tinge of vomit bubble up, and steadied my breath.

He was asking for it, I thought, wiping the sweat from my brow. What other choice did he give me? If he told his da, or. . .?

I looked towards the door of the stables, and knelt with my head in my hands. I didn't have a plan, and I didn't have a goal, but this had **** my hand regardless. Now I had to act, I had to do something to protect myself from anything else that might harm me.

And. . .

And. . .

I was thinking in circles, wasting time and energy but coming no closer to a solution.

Don't panic, idiot. I took a deep breath, You're a merchant's son. Blood of commerce. What do you have? What do you want? And how do you maximize it?