Ida would absolutely not shut the fuck up, even if this meant getting caught in such a compromising position. It’s not as though any of this would play out well for her either, if they were caught. But as a matter of pride, she would die before giving up a fight - and fight she did.

Finding the madman’s, er, metaphorical achilles heel gave the witch the opening she needed. Ida rolled swiftly away from under him, sitting up and scooting back as far as she could. Her chest was heaving, not realizing the way he’d pinned her down had been restricting her breath. Besides this, her foot was in agony from all their struggle, but she couldn’t treat it now. The danger didn’t feel particularly over yet. In a show of warning, Ida kept her wand out and pointed at the man, lowering only slightly to see him struggling. It seemed she bruised more than his ego.

Now on closer look, he seemed much younger than she thought. Not that much older than her brother, though his hands were decidedly stronger and more calloused. If she were not so worried about her imminent demise, she might even have felt bad about the genuinely bereft expression on his face. Operative word might. Nothing about this man that indicated that was trustworthy.

“I feel sorry for your kids,” she said, not an ounce of sarcasm in her voice because it was true, even if it was for a different reason altogether. How young was he to have children already? She wondered, shuddering at the idea of someone like him raising anything. “But you’re not going to get out of here in any of the ways you’ve mentioned. The Aurors have us in a glass jar.” Well, more like a glass bowl put upside down on top of them all, but now was not the time to get technical. She pointed directly above them to the clouds. Any magical being could look at it for long enough to see the slightest shimmer of a distortion -- the barrier at work.

“I’m sorry but you can’t have my father’s rifle. If you take it, you may as well murder me this instant, and spare him the trouble.” The witch sniffed, shaking some leaves absently from her hair with one hand while keeping her wand pointed with the other. It’s not like she was fishing for pity. Ida put the words as blandly and succinctly as someone might describe the size and color of a quaffle. These were simply the facts, and she hoped now that she’d shown him that she was not one to be taken advantage of, perhaps she could reason with him. Or at least buy enough time for someone to find them.

“What the hell were you arrested for, anyway?” Ida looked at him skeptically, wondering how a convict might have his wand, or what kind of runaway didn’t have the constables hot on his heels already. There was a full story here somewhere.

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