Wild Berry Meadow o, how my flesh summers

She mostly expected the woman to be totally unfamiliar with the description Maegi gave. She really did. The fact that there was any familiarity at all brought her up short; a name was even more surprising. The Melonii stiffened, straightening, her gaze growing blank and cold.

I should go, she said abruptly, already taking a step or two back. If Molag Bal—Mahler—was the kind of company this stranger kept, then Maegi wanted no further part of it. She seemed nice enough, but. . .alas. She couldn't be trusted, not if there was no apparent malice between herself and this Mahler.

She turned and hobbled away through the grass, glancing over her shoulder every so often. Blue landed suddenly on her shoulder and she started; he dug his talons in and she winced. Keep an eye out for that wolf back there, Maegi said in a low voice. If she comes around with a wolf that she calls Mahler. . .let me know.