their pursuers were no fewer in number, but fewer could approach them at once, and that was very nearly the same thing, for Folly’s purposes. Though, now that she considered it, Folly had never regarded herself as the sort of young woman who had purposes, precisely. That was potentially a troubling development—not nearly so troubling as being torn to pieces by thousands of silkweavers, of course, but it was a matter upon which to deliberate—assuming, of course, that she survived the next few moments.
