Two figures at the rim of the glade. Lykos, holding Fidele by one hand, dangling her over the cliff edge. “Let her go,” Maquin snarled, stalking towards them. “That’s a poor choice of words,” Lykos observed. “Are you sure?” He jerked a wrist, setting Fidele wobbling, only her toes on the cliff edge, back arching over into thin air.