Fight!

"I'm afraid you're not my type," Echo says, lunging at him with her dagger. The oversized man dodges to the side with surprising speed and promptly counters with an open fisted arm-thrust that lands directly between the lunging mercenary's small breasts, knocking her feet out from under her and taking the wind from her lungs as she lands on her back on the hard dirt road.

"I'm afraid I don't much care what you think, little bitch,"rumbles his deep menacing voice.

As she lay groaning and gasping for breath the man kicks the dagger from her hand, but makes no further move of attack, simply pacing around her prone form. "Well?," he says, coming to a stop and looking down at her face, "How long do you plan on laying there, or do you submit already?"

Echo finally manages a deep breath and angrily looks up at the serious, disinterested face of her assailant. In a swift motion she plants her hands into the ground and swings her legs around as fast as she can, hoping to take the beasts legs out from under him and make a run for her dagger.

However, things don't go quite as planned as when her legs meet his ankle they just bounce off harmlessly. Harmless to him at least, as Echo recoils in pain from the hit, feeling as if her ankle has snapped. It's clear she would've had better luck kicking down a tree as the man neither budges nor reacts.

With his bulky arms crossed across his equally bulky chest, he looks down upon the squirming young woman with disdain. "So this is the best they could do? Huh," he says to himself.

Echo's mind is reeling from her almost certainly broken ankle, and even worse from the feeling of complete defenselessness. She rolls around in the dirt, curling and uncurling, trying to find some respite from the pain and humiliation. One particularly painful pulse from her ankle sends her rolling onto her stomach and tilting her head up to scream.

However, as her head shoots up, a gleam catches her eye. She wills her eyes to focus and the gleam is revealed; her lovely lifelong dagger companion, laying on the ground, no more than 5 feet away.

The sight makes her forget her scream, her pain, her defenselessness. She even disregards the unmoving figure who's shadow is cast over her procumbent form. She lets her arms begin to carry her towards it, one handful of dirt at a time, a determined crawl for her life, her mind telling her that it's not over yet.

The dagger comes closer and closer and it moments it's within her grasp. She reaches out her hand and her fingers wrap around the familiar adorned handle: And at the same time a massive black boot comes crashing down on her wrist, pinning her dagger wielding hand firmly to the ground.

This action propels her mind back to its former state, and all the pain comes with it. She looks up the emotionless brute, shock and pain in her beautiful green eyes.

He looks back down at her still and silent for a moment, before saying in a deep, measured tone, "Let go of the dagger, girl."