She imagines him, stalking the deer. Something quiet and dangerous coiled in the shadows, waiting. It fills her with a cloying dread, that thought. The thought of men waiting to bring blood from the innocent with swiftness and slyness. Taking whatever they desire. She wanted that power for herself. She wanted to be the one to rend, to make things scream.

She runs her fingers through her hair several times, uncomfortable with the turn her thoughts have taken. Her eyes lower to the hems of her skirts, which stir only a little in the brisk air.

"I would like to meet your dogs," she murmurs, attempting not to lose the thread of conversation and seem too strange. She didn't like to be peered at too closely, as if tapping fingers on the glass might break her pretty veneer and all would be exposed about a pretty girl with a bloody mouth. "I like dogs, very much. Someone once told me I have a good heart like a dog. Loyal."

A young man she had met in the village where he family lived West of the Valdemar House. He had very pale skin and dark eyes. He would smoke cigarettes at the cafe while she drank tea and chattered to him about fairytales. His smile was sharp when heads went rolling.