She raided their settlements in shifts, staggering her kills from tribe to tribe, undiscriminating of their petty politics. Trodger might not need his hair dressed, but the flagon of ale that each soldier quaffed would be welcome—once his captain had departed, thought Roding cynically. She was trying to adjust the wimple, dragging at it and fighting with her loosened hair. ’ ‘No, you are a gentleman,’ she agreed.
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