Linduial nodded at Scyld's words. She had of course seen her things in his arms with his other necessities, but she refused to let hope deceive her. It made sense for him to take the dagger, if he had access to it. It was fine work, richly crafted. It was probably worth a great deal of money. The doll made less sense, so she pushed it from her mind.
"It is the only thing you can do," she stated flatly. He was looking at her expectantly, but she was closed off, quiet. Too much was happening too quickly, and she didn't know how to react. "Where will you go?"
He didn't answer, which she had suspected. She showed no surprise, but her fear began to eat at her a little. "If you open this door," she asked desperately, "could I make it to those who came for me? I can't ask you to--" she felt the onset of panic, felt it bubbling up inside her, threatening to overtake her in a torrent of meaningless words, and pushed it back, only her eyes betraying anything of her emotion.
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