Even then, the beast makes as though he means to run again. I look on into the lingering blackness. Fear cautions me to continue on as Priest bid. Alone now, I pull the tiny hairs of the stallion’s mane. “Back! We must go back!” It only whinnies in response. I hear hooves approach. I loose the mane, and take up the blade instead. It quivers in my hand. Do I give what little defense I can, or open my veins and keep Hecate from her prize? I prick my fingers upon the edge. Wicked sharp, it calls my blood at the slightest touch. No. Father did not wilt in the face of death. Nor did Priest when surrounded by Hecate and her followers. I do both an injustice if I falter so easily now. I remind myself of Bishop’s words. They come for me…Plan to take me before the Warlock. Mayhap I might put an end to him, or even Hecate ere they kill me. I hide the dagger inside my dress, and tie the strings of my dirtied apron to bind it close. The coldness of it freezes my naked skin, a reminder I yet live.
