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“What . . . what did you do that for?” he asked nervously.
“It is our custom, after battle,” said Ferin, her dark eyes bright with mischief. “The beginning of a custom, anyway. There is more; I will show you. We have lived, and now we must be joyful.”
Sam looked sideways at her, his expression dubious at first, but then slowly his face brightened.
“Sometimes I’m a bit slow,” he said. “I mean, apart from making things.”
“Yes, you are,” said Ferin. “But it is of no matter. I am not.”
