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Basch Zwingli was very much a “Shoot first, ask questions never” type of person, so when he felt the buzz of an approaching immortal, he did what he always did in such circumstances when no one appeared to be around, shoot at whatever most likely had a person behind it, in this case a hedge.
It was a lucky shot, or an unlucky one, depending how you look at it. He heard a rustling thump and the buzz cut out. Basch fought his way through the hedge to investigate the corpse.
And immediately resheathed his sword (which he’d pulled out once free of twigs). The corpse was a child. Or at any rate, a girl. She looked to be about twelve or thirteen, although she was thin enough it was hard to be certain. She was barefoot, and her clothes were threadbare and far too tattered to protect against the late autumn chill.
Basch looked down at her, wondering what to do. He’d already decided not to kill her, the smart thing to do would be to leave her there. It was always wiser, Basch had found, not to get involved with other immortals, and just because she looked young didn’t necessarily mean she couldn’t be dangerous. Generally, Basch always did the smart thing. He had no patience for concepts like honor, and little room in his life for kindness. But, well, she did look very small lying there, very small and very vulnerable with his bullet through her neck. (He’d been aiming roughly in the area of a grown man’s upper torso.)
Basch picked the girl up sending an irritated mental huff in the direction of his conscience, and trudged home, where he built up the fire and tucked her into his bed (getting blood on his clean sheets). He sighed. Apparently even after all these years he still had a soft spot left. He didn’t even know the girl, but provided she didn’t stab him while his back was turned, he would protect her with his life.