Hild's training, the ability to keep a composed expression while dealing with difficult or terrifying news, was deeply ingrained into her. Years and years of the same message -- quiet mouth, bright mind -- could not be fully undone by a year and a half in a place such as Darrow, which seemed to prize and encourage emotional displays and openness of feeling. But with her friends, Hild had always been less than circumspect.

Her face remained calm, only a twitch of her brows, a tightening around the eyes showing that she had heard Krem's words at all. But her mouth was far from quiet. A string of Anglisc curses fell from her lips. She had always thought of Anglisc as sounding like round apples thumbing against a barrel. These apples smashed hard against word, ready to break.

She shut the door harder than she needed, but less than a slam, and moved to shepherd Krem toward the couch. "What was he thinking?" she asked, managing to pull herself back to modern English. "Did he know?"