Something coalesced in the girl's eyes, some flash of hope that had temporarily deserted her. "Willingly, Scyld," she said softly, than again with more firmness. She stood and waited impatiently by the door to her cage. Even if I die, it will not be in here, she thought, with no small satisfaction. "But one thing. Will you hand me my knife? It may yet be that I will need it, before we are safe."
She thought, suddenly, of the man whom she had stabbed, of the startled shock of pain that had come upon his face when her knife had caught his rib. Sorn had of course told her that she hadn't killed him, but she'd thought that she had, or might have, and the thought had not haunted her over much. I did not know this about myself, that I could kill a man. But I could, if I had to. I could do whatever I had to, and still go on, and not think overmuch about it. Not right away anyway.
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