[ The poor dog almost gets to be a distraction - she finally sees him as he runs downstairs, probably expecting food and to be let outside - but the idea of being the next to follow directs her thoughts away from the creature. ]
And get shot in the back?
[ No, thanks, says her face, simultaneously weary and sulky. She risks looking away long enough to go over to the bedside table and yank the drawer open. There's a leather sheath in there; she pulls it out, holds it up, and slides the blade inside.
And then she waits, watching him intently. At this point, she's sure he'll tell her if that's not good enough. ]
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And get shot in the back?
[ No, thanks, says her face, simultaneously weary and sulky. She risks looking away long enough to go over to the bedside table and yank the drawer open. There's a leather sheath in there; she pulls it out, holds it up, and slides the blade inside.
And then she waits, watching him intently. At this point, she's sure he'll tell her if that's not good enough. ]