“Afraid of him already, are you?”
“I’m not myself. A darkish night, and me with just enough light to see where to crack his skull—and Hardcastle riding the lonely roads he’s fond of——”
“All in good time.” Nita’s voice was clear as a throstle’s, her fingers busy with the willows. “Before an end comes to him that way, Jake, we’ll strike elsewhere.”
“If you choose. You’re wiser than the rest of us put together.”
“We’ll maim before we kill. Hardcastle is a fool altogether, I tell you so. He cares for his own, when wise folk care for themselves.”
“There’s few enough he cares for these days, I should have said.”
“So he cares deeper for the few. There’s one close friend the Master has—and this is what you’ll do, Jake.”
Then she told her mind to him; and he gaped in admiring wonder for a while, till she bade him get about his business of the day. And after that, in the hollow’s tranquil silence, she threaded her withies in and out as she sat on the bridge—the bridge where Hardcastle had seen her first.