Ma Oxbrydl is separated from the others by a very arrogant warrior who intends to use her to lure her companions into a trap. But you know, never underestimate a woman who's skilled with knitting needles. -- Anon Guest
Her mouth felt like a century-old dovecote that had never been cleaned. Replete with the dead doves. Her head felt like the clapper of a bell. One of the big ones that had been ringing the hour in a clock tower. Her stomach felt like it wanted to turn itself inside-out. Ma Oxbrydl tried moving for greater comfort and soon realised she was tied to a chair.
She risked opening an eye. It was dark, thank the gods. Less painful to look at, true, but also more troublesome to discern details. One detail stood out, however - a figure in one corner, playing with a butterfly knife. All in black.
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