Art Imitates Life?

The old image, strong but generic: 

Brown skirts moved between him and Shamus.  A sword flashed.

“Céard atá ar siúl agat?”  In an appalled voice, a woman demanded to know what they were doing.  “Bómánta!”  Stupid, she called them.

The arm around Liam’s throat loosened enough that Liam could take a breath.  As his vision cleared, he focused on a girl.  A furious girl holding a sword, her flaxen hair long and unbound, as if the brawl had disturbed her primping.

Cuir stad le comharc!”

The tribesmen obeyed, but only within reason.  They stopped throwing punches but those holding men in submission did not let go.  The farmers stopped fighting but stood ready.  One of them lay face down, with a tribesman’s foot on his back.

Shamus’ eyes fluttered open.

The girl continued to yell at them.  Some of the tribesmen regarded her with belligerence, standing down but scowling back at her.  Others hung their heads from the chastisement.

Amadán,” she called them.  Idiots.  “Fiáin,” savages.

Liam waited for her to order the tribesman to release him, but she was more intent on telling them how stupid they were.

Shamus stared up at the girl.  He broke into laughter, disturbing her tirade.  She stared back down at him, aghast.  “Aerdra?” he said.

Her eyebrows rose.

“You’ve grown up, haven’t you?”

She blinked at him then said in broken Alosian, “Who are you?”

He flashed a bloody grin.  “Where’s Sonagh?” he asked.

The new image, a lot stronger:

Brown skirts moved between him and Shamus.  Sunlight glistened over something wet and slimy.

“Céard atá ar siúl agat?”  In an appalled voice, a woman demanded to know what they were doing.  “Bómánta!”  Stupid, she called them.

The arm around Liam’s throat loosened enough that Liam could take a breath.  As his vision cleared, he focused on a girl.  With a pale blonde braid swinging behind her, she held a bloody knife in one hand and a pale, slick tube about the length of her forearm in another.

Cuir stad le comharc!”

The clansmen obeyed, but only to stop and stare at her.  They stopped throwing punches but those holding men in submission did not let go.  The farmers stopped fighting but stood ready.  One of them lay face down, with a clansman’s foot on his back.

One of the clansmen snickered and muttered something.  The girl glared at him and threw the slimy tube at him.  It flopped at Liam’s feet, gathering dirt.  Pinkish white with red veins, it appeared to be a newly shucked rabbit pelt, still inside out.  The clansmen laughed, and she hissed something comparable to, “Shut up.”

Shamus’ eyes fluttered open.

The girl continued to yell at them, her braid swinging with her ardent movements.  Most of the clansmen smirked back at her.  Only a few hung their heads from the chastisement.

The professionals say, “Write what you know.”  I’ve skinned rabbits, and I’ve broken up fights… but never at the same time.

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