Amuné heard the words, though she only partly understood the meaning.  The other girl was the one who kept the Old Gods away?  But if so, why put her in the Stone?  That sort of magic was actually useful, so wouldn’t some city somewhere have accepted having a snare if it kept the witches at bay?  [i]People hate us so much...maybe even that isn’t enough....[/i]  The little girl followed Grace and the singer through the raggy weeds.  The garden -- well, it had been a garden once, though there were as many stray plants as tended flowers now -- was pretty, in a left-alone and forgotten sort of way.  The statue was a funny one, a boy with furry legs and hooves.  But who’d make a statue of a snare?  She wished she could go take a closer look but the woman with the stone arm was going the other way, towards the cliff.  When they got closer, a cave could be made out, and Grace went in.

Inside were the remains of fighters.  The armor scattered around wasn’t so bad, but the bones, especially the skulls, were terribly frightening, and she tried to avoid them.  The cave didn’t seem like a safe place at all!  Amuné went over next to the singer as soon as the lady moved away.  Very quietly, so she would only be heard by the other girl, the younger child spoke.  “I don’t understand...what’s happening?  Are...those things.  The ones behind the wall.  They’re really gods?”  A thoughtful pause followed.  “How do we fix it?  You can fix it, right?”  It was more a plea than a question.  She couldn’t let go of the tiny shard of hope, the prayer that, while things might not be better, at least maybe they might not get any worse than they had been.  “Um...I’m Amuné.  And this is Kitten.”  Not a very creative name for the stuffed animal, but she’d named it when she was very little and never changed it.

She was keeping an eye on the woman with the stone arm, and the magic being worked.  Magic was bad, /very/ bad.  She didn't want to stay near it, but she didn't want to leave the singer behind either.