Big Salmon Lake Can I get a connection?

He gives a curt nod to her praise, the small smile over his lips the only outward indication of his pleasure at her giving said praise. She doesn't even know his real name; he is keeping his cards close to his chest, with this girl, nice as she might be. Too nice, really. There is a tiny voice in his head screaming that he ought not to trust her.

Kind and candid--that was the nature of a spy, at least in Mynydd. They lured you in with their warmth, then cooled when the moment was right: by the time you picked up on it, it was too late. They had you in their clutches.

Llewellyn does not intend to be snared by this girl.

He layers the cobwebs on top, trying to smooth them down as evenly as possible over the poultice already applied. It is quiet, methodical work, and he finds some peace in it, eyelids sinking slightly with the continuous motion. The job is done after some minutes; he steps back again, looking at her once more. He needs a drink, he thinks, to wash the taste of greenery from his mouth.

"Now, can you do something for me?" Llewellyn asks, raising his brows.