Collecting Payment
#9
The only shaman of a lone arctic tribe. She'd come across quite the prize indeed. Now all that was left was taking the girl with her. Gingerly Amy reached back into her pocket. There was a powder there that would knock out the person who inhaled it. She was careful not to breath it in herself as she held it in her hands, positioning it in front of the small shaman's nose. Swiftly she blew, letting the dust settle over the girl's nose.

There was no waiting now. Amy stooped down to catch the girl as the drugs kicked in. Her eyes scanned the room, seeing what else she would need. Of course her special girl would need the paints she used. Amy didn't know the recipe, and she wasn't sure how long until they stopped. The paint would have to last until then. The grandmother was already basically dead, so there were no worries there. The tribesmen were a minor worry, but if she bundled the girl in furs it would just look like trade supplies.

The girl was surprisingly light. Gently Amy put her on the ground. It wouldn't do to have her wonderful prize damaged. That would lower the value. She moved around with a surprising speed for such a delicate looking creature. The paints were gathered and wrapped, furs taken to wrap around her.


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