It was only as I came close that I realized all was not as well, or as simple as I had thought. For Alys bared her teeth and growled at me. This was common enough behavior; she was famous in the household for her bad temper, one of the privileges of great age. But she never directed it at me. I stood a few paces away, not to alarm her, and studied her carefully. She looked all right. Maybe she had simply been frightened. Whatever was bothering her, it needed careful handling. I crouched down and edged closer. She growled again, drawing back her lip. She was trembling, great shivers coursing through her small body. Terrified. Try as I might, she would let me no closer.

Eventually I retreated to the kitchens for a scrap of lardy cake. Terriers are good eaters and find it hard to resist a treat. Slowly, very slowly, I came closer to her, until I was only a few paces away. Then I sat on the ground, with the cake next to me, and stared into the distance. The growls gradually subsided. After a while she crept over; and I heard the sound of furtive munching. It was safe to look at her again.

She had not been hurt. Simply held captive, and frightened. Perhaps, to discover who had done it, I might look for hands with bite marks. For what they had done had disturbed her greatly. I could see now that in the long wiry hair on her back was shaven a crude but unmistakable sign. It was a symbol I had seen chalked above doors to ward off witches. A sign I had seen made with the fingers, against the works of the devil. A message for me. Sorceress, be gone. For now, they had stopped short of hurting her, perhaps mindful of whose dog she had been.

Perhaps it had only been children. A prank. Maybe it was of little importance. So I said nothing of it at supper, trying to act as if all was well, for I did not wish to add fuel to any rumors. But as Conor had told me more than once, I was not very good at hiding what I felt. Not like some. Margery asked if I was all right, and I nodded, and Ben said I looked tired and I smiled. John tried to make me eat; they were always trying to make me eat, but my body was long used to denial, and accepted only small quantities of the plainest fare. A little bread, some fruit, a bowl of barley broth. Occasionally cheese. They thought I starved myself, but I did well enough. Besides, it concentrated the mind better, going without. I remember Father Brien saying that once.