“As they sailed past Rabing Isle and onward upstream, he was sure at any moment a River Folk war-party would come whooping after him. His eyes never ceased combing the banks and he stared piercingly at every passing sail. If he had had a second hand, he would have tried to wield one of the ridiculously huge poles these stomping big idiots used to work their way upriver at speed. Like all Wee Folk, he was very strong for his size, but not that strong. He eyed the maid, thinking of urging her to p...ole for them. But he couldn’t think of a good excuse for haste. He’d told her they were on their way to meet Puck, and that lie was the only thing that kept her with him. He was certain she had become suspicious of him. She prattled on about stopping to meet an aunt who lived along the river, a woman who had been kind to her in her youth. “Tut, tut, girl,” Piskin told her, shaking his head with sad, exaggerated slowness. “How little you know of the world. It’s a shame, it is, to be the one to tell you.”MoreLessRead More Read Less
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