“Away.”  Her stride remained steady until they were around a corner and out of sight of the boy and his father.  Then the girl’s demeanor changed, as if she collapsed in on herself.  Her shoulders slumped, her spine hunched a bit, and she shuddered.  “Why...why did you -- that wasn’t necessary.”  Her voice was soft, holding disapproval and even disappointment.  “That man hadn’t done anything.  He was upset because he felt his son was threatened.”  Cautiously Amuné touched her split lip, wincing, then checked her various bruises to see what was swelling.  She didn’t feel like one huge ache anymore, but being a bunch of distinct ones wasn’t much better.  “He was just too angry.  Too afraid.”  A deep shadow crept into her grey eyes again, and this time it was not so swiftly dislodged.

“You asked me, was that surprise.”  She brought up his question partially because it was a better time, but also to distract herself from unhappy thoughts.  “When you did that...I was mostly surprised.  But he was scared.  Fear hits harder.”  The girl took a deep breath to regain her composure, and straightened up again.  She regarded the impassive skull mask that showed only narrow glimpses into the man’s eyes.  “I said your face isn’t scary.  But that’s not quite right.  Alone it’s not, at least not to me.  But when you were threatening that peasant...I was scared.  You scared me.”  She tried to find the words for what she wanted to express.  “If that is how you are most of the time, then your face would be scary too.”