( A growl, the hard clench of her teeth. She shifts her glance away, trembling with the start of irritation. In her hand, the purse of remains starts to bleed, drip and drip, and the earth that receives it darkens. )

I rode. It is what I do, to flee him. I did not hunt you. ( A worthwhile distinction, she appears to think. ) If I am go... it is because I am promised reprieve. That I will spend days, and he will not find me. But the time passes, and he comes, and I ride again.