When he grabbed her, she wanted to try and fight him again, get in a good kick between the legs and see how fast he'd go down, but the next thing she knew, the ground was barely beneath her feet and she could hear the surf crashing below her. She trembled, as she had never been good with heights. When he pushed her again, a little further over, she grasped his arm like a lifeline.
Why did he keep calling her wand a stick? Didn't he know what it was? But, what if he wasn't a wizard. She remembered in her training that there were a few rare prisoners who weren't wizards, at least one of which was a werewolf. She forced herself to look at his face, however briefly, and could definitely see the wildness in him. "You're a werewolf, aren't you," she accused. "How do I know you'll let me live anyway?"