[Careful now, Susan. Must you sharpen the knife against yourself at every turn? She pushes her hair back out of her face with both hands, still a little unsteady on her feet, and, for want of anything better to do with her hands, begins to braid it back, the better to keep it out of her eyes next time he starts in on her. For there will be a next time; of that, she's sure.]
[With a great effort, she holds back the urge to tell him sharply that an ass would at least be a better companion than he is. She's dug a deep enough hole for herself already, and if there's one thing that wave of panic when she couldn't breathe has taught her, it's this: dead girl or no, she doesn't want to die again.]
It'd be a poor stable for even a mule. On that, I guess we agree. Stable two horses as close as this, and they'll be taking bites of each other's hocks ere the day's out.
[That none-too-subtle metaphor is the closest he's likely to get to any kind of apology, and she's sure he won't take it as one. That's fine. She doesn't really mean it as one.]
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[With a great effort, she holds back the urge to tell him sharply that an ass would at least be a better companion than he is. She's dug a deep enough hole for herself already, and if there's one thing that wave of panic when she couldn't breathe has taught her, it's this: dead girl or no, she doesn't want to die again.]
It'd be a poor stable for even a mule. On that, I guess we agree. Stable two horses as close as this, and they'll be taking bites of each other's hocks ere the day's out.
[That none-too-subtle metaphor is the closest he's likely to get to any kind of apology, and she's sure he won't take it as one. That's fine. She doesn't really mean it as one.]