As Hark was going in for his attack, Duraid simply disengaged. Hark regained his balance with a twist before pivoting sharply. Duraid had grabbed something from the nearby rack and had yet to turn around. Hark placed himself directly in between the woman and Duraid. Hark quickly kneeled, placing a hand into some dirt that had been stirred up. If Duraid had a weapon, Hark would have to play dirty, so he grabbed a handful of dirt. As Hark kneeled he looked back at the woman and asked, “Are you alright? I’ll buy you some time to get away.”
Hark stood up, a fistful of dirt in his left hand, a clenched fist in the other. Then Duraid spoke, "Boy, I'm fairly certain that you don't know where you are. Or that your misguided sense of justice will get you killed. As it stands, you've come to my camp, and charged both myself and my daughter. From what I recall, that'd make you a Vinsenian spy, then? They don't make them as smart as they used to. So, instead, I'll ask you your own question. What the hell are you doing?"
The blood pounding in his ears that sounded vaguely like the beat of a drum prevented him from paying the words much heed. However, what he did hear was the man accusing Hark of being a spy.
A smile spread across Hark’s face and he couldn’t help but to burst into laughter. One could describe the laughter as coming from one’s boots. A spy! Hark, accused of being a spy! Hark managed to sputter between breaths, “Ser, there isn’t an ounce of subtlety in my entire being! How in the nine hell’s could I be a spy?” It took him only a second to recover. “And what I’m doing.” Hark said, the smile fading from his face, “is making sure you pick on somebody your own size.” Hark said, bringing himself into a fighting stance.