Ithacles turned his head this way and that. There was no one in the room to defend his honor. He met the gaze of a mounted elk but he was silent on the matter. And truth be told the trophy looked a bit hellish in the glow of the fire, all sunken shadow. So he looked back at Vedette.
"You must have forgotten to mention it. But I suppose that's the perfect way to kill someone. The evidence disappears, right?"
He swirled his cup. Almost empty. But he was warm now anyway, and drinking too much warm cider had always made him feel slightly sick.
"Wouldn't matter, about the medal. Since you never wear the jacket anyway."
Ithacles laughed again, quietly. The room was too dark and still to be loud.