She winced as the hand smacked against the back of her skull, a swallow as she buried her pride.
We are better than them. We are better than them. We are-
She did not see the rock. But she heard the after effects.
Gnashing teeth, smashing fists, a roar of noise that swelled and grew. Another rock, she dared to look over her shoulder to see the bodies of the lower classes react - colour draining out from her face as the once lingering crowd turned into a mob. She barely had time to brace herself, a victim of all this, before the people rushed in. Fists raised high, the swarm snatched its jaws shut and the vicious nature of the soot district raised its ugly head. Someone tackled her to the ground, air knocked out and head ringing against the floor. Feet trampled around her, bodies and legs blotting out the dry season sky. A knee to the face, she raised her arms around her head, instinctively curling in to avoid the additional battering that came her way.
A hand shook her, tugging her forearm and a quieter voice barely picked out from the chaos of the crowd, "Come on. We need to move."
She cracked out an eye, feeling a distinct swelling beginning to bloom underneath it. Wincing she followed the hand, seeing the determined face of the other. Her head shook, hearing a distinct ringing in her ears, the lips moving but no sound immediately reaching her. Another stray foot, a kicked up pebble, a swift kick in the gut - it what chaos. Another pull, the smith was dragged out, body reluctant to obey as the mob began to bay for something. Retribution of some form she reasoned. Out between the limbs, the dead weight of the few who fell. The grip turned into a hold, head continuing to swim as at last she burst forth from the mass.
They were not given the moment to stand however, before a broad cloak was tossed over her. Disorientated, she was kept hunched over, bundled and pushed. Feet tripped, hands scooped and pushed. She grunted as she rolled, landing on her back. Ears still ringing, she saw the narrow buildings tower above - an alleyway. A hand touched the side of her head, feeling the moist damp growing there. Blood, it pulsed angrily enough. Overhead she saw the frowning face of a Cadet, looking down disapprovingly at her mostly collapsed form in the gutter.
A hand grasped by the front of the shirt, a hand touching what bloomed along the side of face. The lips moved again, voice a slur, before they hauled the smith up to their feet, "Come on you, keep your head down. We'll get you some help. Just a bit further."