[i]Well, and ‘e sure ‘as some fancy words, doan ‘e?[/i]

He didn’t, really, but while he had difficulty with her accent, so she had some with his word choice. Not much, if she was being truly honest. It was more that Herring never considered any sentence starting or finishing with an accusatory [i]you wouldn’t know[/i], or anything with similar intent, deserving of a proper listening ear. Wasn’t any reason to hear a stranger imagining they knew anything at all about her, was there now? 

Granted, most of this fellow’s assumptions were true. She’d never been strung up or beaten, had never been told she was vile or worthless—the very idea had her tilting her head again—she didn’t know what it was like to live his life anymore than he could know hers. Didn’t change the fact that he was pretending he did. It left her standing with her free hand on her hip, head still angled back and to the side in a manner that suggested confidence while her still narrowed eyes allowed for a hint of uncertainty. She didn’t have a plan for strangers who weren’t lost or here for glory. One you led out of the trees, and the rest you left to follow their destinies to an early grave or a new life. She didn’t deal with strangers, and she hadn’t the faintest clue how to treat his outburst. 

Was she supposed to know how to respond to that? 

Did he mean her to feel sorry for him? Because he was still walking where he wasn’t wanted, no matter what set his boots in this direction. She might have gotten angry in turn, traded outburst for outburst, but a quick puff of air to get the hair out of her face reminded her that she was tired and didn’t care. He was letting out steam like a kettle reaching boiling point, probably didn’t have a thing to do with her and if she only waited him out… there, see? The man cut himself off conspicuously, making no effort to apologise or explain himself. 

Either way, she was only glad he’d stopped and didn’t seem to want her to pay it any attention. So, she pretended like he’d held his tongue properly the whole while, and even ignored the way his hands went to his wrists. Memory or recent affectation, she wasn’t going to care. He had his problems and she had hers, and unfortunately for him, [i]he[/i] was hers. 

And whatever he thought about her just now, reasonable assumptions aside, she didn’t feel the slightest sense of concern over his life up until now. Why should she? So, when he jumped back to the idea of a dragon, Herring continued staring at him. 

Bringing her basket to the front so she could hold it there with both hands, and taking advantage of the height their respective positions afforded her, she made it clear she wasn’t just physically looking down on him. Making demands no please or thank you like that… her laugh, when it came, arrived after a suitably lengthy pause to make sure it was obviously mocking. And she leaned forward over the acorns ever so slightly, using what he gave her to make her message clear. If the rest of the world didn’t want him, she saw no reason to act any differently. She wasn’t going to beat him, but she wasn’t just going to do what he wanted, either. And it wasn’t just because there wasn’t any dragon.

“What makes ye think I’ve any knowin’ on where that beastie kips? Better for us both I show ye th’hole y’ought t’crawl int’ like a proper rabbit so’s isnit any trouble whate’er it be ye brung t’th’forest.” She didn’t like biding by doing as she was told. And she saw no reason to play nice now. If he was only here to hide from the rest of the world, then he could find himself some other hole and hide there. She wasn’t looking for company.

“Doan need a monster lettin’ loose round ‘ere, do I? Isnit any a one needin’ that.” Straightening up, Herring sniffed and turned away to leave him to it, whatever it might be, since he apparently wanted to join the vaunted ranks of dead heroes. She didn’t need to waste more time on him, and wasn’t about to explain that he was barking up the wrong tree looking for dragons here. There wasn’t enough light left to go back to work, but she had other chores to finish up before heading to bed. 

So, off she went, muttering to herself. “Waste a time an’ good mem’ries, all these ‘ere fools. Right plague a’them.”