She lands on her side, heavily swung down - a grimace for it, take mercy on her ribs, Piotr, is the silent plea she'd never say. Spends so much of her time crouching and her sixty years is catching up to her in the worst kind of way over this dreadful winter. She knows Even if she never would let it slow her down. "Oh yes, when that woman is more than your match. I mean unless you're scared of such a thing, of course?"

But for it, as she hunkers down, she draws the knife from her belt that she had taken up the day she gave herself into his wife's service. Her movements drawing her in a circle and she hears the men somewhere distantly behind them.