Chapter 53

I made to run away, and indeed I’d have jumped into the mere sooner than he should see me. But he put his hand on my shoulder, and for all it was gentle, it was a wrostler’s hand, and not to be said no to. “What? Oot run away? Why, Prue Sarn?” he said. I hung my head and wished I was the dragon-fly. I said nought. I gave a despert pull, but it was no manner use. He only laughed. “I do think,” he said, in the voice that made its own summer, “that it be a very funny way to treat a chap as comes to thank ye kindly for…