Artemis kept a comfortable distance between them, making no effort to encroach on the huntress's space. Oak and spring blossoms, she thought again as she brushed up against that presence. A respectable age about her, but young by Artemis's standards. Centuries, rather than millennia. The accent said British Isles. English?
The woman's words drew a sharp flash of a smile. "It's a free country," Artemis said with a loose, one-shouldered shrug. "So I'm told." There was a wry edge to her voice. Americans loved to talk about their freedom. They had been talking about it nonstop for two hundred years. Artemis wasn't so sure they knew what the word meant.