Pasi steps in

A tall figure steps into your view. You recognise it. Shoulder-length black hair tied back in a loose half-ponytail, and a pair of deep green eyes. It's Pasi. Hand resting on the longsword by his hip. He's always had a friendly look about his face. But his scarred lip is twisted now into the faint suggestions of a frown, and his eyes are narrowed and unflinching. Piercing green to the men before him.

“Something I can help you with?” asks the leader of the traveller.

Pasi doesn't move. He just stands there, with his sword-hand unmoving. One of the travellers, a big man with big intentions, steps forth, putting him between you two.

“Gonna say what you want? Or do I need to loosen your tongue with me fist?”

“Yeah,” replies Pasi, at last. “Let the lady go, and I won't gut you lot like pigs at the slaughterhouse. How's that?”

The men say nothing. The wiry one curses under his breath after a long, and uncomfortable silence. Setting you down on the table, the three travellers make their way out of the building, and soon become nothing more than passing, hazy memories.

Pasi steps closer. His arm is strong and steady around your waist. But comforting. In a way familiar to the both of you.

“Let's get you home, alright?”