If he is smart, he will run. He is not.

Jewels can be replaced, cousin. Independence, once lost, cannot.

When he laces his fingers through mine, my heart does its now familiar panicked flight, bumping painfully against my ribs. My shoulder twitches as if to pull my hand back, but my heart overrules it.

God's Teeth,' he says. 'I was only trying to wake you. You were crying out in your sleep.' 'I was not,' I say, then look from his neck to my knife. 'When I tried to wake you, you stabbed me.' He sounds sore put out. and I cannot blame him.

And so it is with us; we serve as handmaidens to Death. When we are guided by His will, killing is a sacrament.

I am a handmaiden of Death. I walk in His dark shadow and do His bidding. Serving Him is my only purpose in this life.

I am left with the conviction that an avalanche would be easier to dissuade than that man.