Aedre had not anticipated such a reaction from Garrett. If he were a Witch of the Wilds, he would not have reacted the way he had. He would not have let her put her knife to his neck and wrap her arm about his shoulders. She held him tight and hoped he could not feel her fingers trembling. What manner of man was he? Or was he what she thought he was, and merely trying to trick her into submission? She did not wholly believe that Flemeth would even bother, however.
As he turned his head, Aedre kept her face and eyes away from his area of vision. She had heard tales of the Witch of the Wilds being all-seeing and all knowing, so why did he turn his head? She was puzzled, but never let her guard down.
“Witch,” she hissed in response, deepening the pressure she had previously placed on the knife at his neck. It was nothing that would cut him, but might pique a little bit of concern. “I know your mind tricks. You cannot fool me with your questions and lies. Why have you returned to the Wilds?”
And yet the man she held had not cast a spell yet. If he truly were a Witch, a manifestation of Flemeth herself, then he would have attacked her surely. And why would he be wandering about in the form of a wolf, calling himself such? Surely a Witch would be much more confident in her abilities than to pause at a Chasind’s knife.