Coimbra

George lay in the darkness, his skin drying slowly. As the effects of the fall abated, George's mind returned to reality. He was being watched. He wondered if he should try and draw out his 'shadow' to 'play'. Firebird somewhat upset by his refusal to get up and pay attention to her, started doing a good impression of a pet mourning her master.

It had been several minutes and the boy had not moved. The horses was starting to get restless now, whinnying pitifully and trying to get him to move. Perhaps he was dead? Perhaps he had escaped the water only to have a headwound kill him moments later?

Damn it, thought George, but the man was chosen well. Firebird whinnied again, now herself fooled into thinking something was wrong and licked his face. It took all of George's strength not to react to that. Then the horse must have decided that he was asleep for with a last prolonged 'cry', she lay down on the ground next to him.

The horse had settled next to him. No reaction to its licking his face.

The shadow wavered, wondering whether he should go closer. It had been a good six or seven minutes; if the boy was going to wake he would have done it by now.

Cautiously the watcher ventured out from his cover, edging closer and into the open expanse between him and Hunter.

George sensed rather than heard movement. He did not move but his whole body felt like a taut rope waiting to snap. Firebird sensed the man approaching too and lifted her head to look in the man's direction.

"Easy," the man murmured in Portuguese. He inched closer to Hunter, now about three feet away from him and peered at him cautiously. No sign of a head wound, and he was still breathing. Alive then, it would seem...

George judged the distance small enough. In one fluid motion he rolled onto his side and with the heel of his foot hit the man in the groin.

[OOC: Hunter's got bloody long legs then...]

The boy struck fast, but the man was quick to react, meaning that the heel caught a blow, much less strongly than imagined. Staggering back, he turned and broke into a hobbling sprint away from the scene.

[OOC: Er... I kind of imagined he also moved when rolling... Would you like me to change that?]

George sprang to his feet and mounted Firebird who was still lying down. She broke into a gallop and caught up with the man, rearing and threating to trample him under her hooves.

[OOC: Only joking. ]

Realising that he was caught, the man dropped to the floor, shielding his head and curling up in a ball, his back to the flailing hooves. At least if the beast broke his neck it would be a quick death.

George tugged at the reins and in the last moment Firebird landed her front legs next to the man, rather than on him. Slipping off the saddle George got the man into a choke hold, his arm pressing against the 'shadow's' windpipe.
'Decided to rob me, have you?' he growled.

"No, senhor!" the man managed to choke in accented English. "No, senhor! Please!"

'Of course, we deny everything.' George tightened the hold a little and whispered into the man's ear. 'From what my servant tells me this is not a place frequented by night, and do you honestly think that your somewhat 'stealthy' approach is characteristic of a man out on a walk?'

"No, please!" the man cried. "I explain! I explain!"

George snorted. He did not need any explanations, for he knew that a man was a spy, most likely one of Hogan's. He loosened the hold just a little and whispered.
'Explain then, but don't try anything funny. I do not need weapons to defend myself.'

The man calmed a little, and swallowed, rubbing his dirty and tanned neck.

"I am told to follow you, senhor," he gasped. "By a man. He pays me, and I tell him where you go. I mean no harm, senhor, I swear!"

George grinned behind the man, and tightened the hold a fraction.
'Who pays you?'

"A man, in a black coat. He is short with black hair - I do not know his name!"

[OOC: is it anyone I know? like Hogan?]

'Fine. What did he look like beyond being short with black hair, if that is ven true,' George tightened the hold some more, 'Is he Portuguese, English, French?'

[OOC: Nope.]

"Portuguese!" The man gasped. "He is older, but his hair is still dark, only a little grey, with brown eyes."

'And where might I find him?' George did not ease the hold. 'Provided I believe you.'

"I do not know! He meet me in an inn and ask me there. Please, senhor, I mean no harm! No harm!"

'I mean no harm either,' whispered George and kneed the man in the groin.

The man groaned aloud and doubled up as far as he could with Hunter's arm still around his throat.

George let go of the men and quickly tied his hands with the horses reins.
'I suggest you don't tug at them too much, my horse doesn't like to be 'tugged' at. I do not want your skull smashed in... yet.'

With that George ran back to pick up his clothes and put them back on.