Falls of the Hinterlands I could fight this 'til the end but maybe I don't wanna win

so. she was a mercenary of her own kind, selling death secrets and washing her hands of what came next. the idea of paying her for anything piqued colt. her inner thoughts were right: he would rather wring a neck than hire out the job to be done badly.
but doing things yourself had a way of painting your face on every wanted poster under many tongues.
colt thought of the sunspire, of the woman who'd patched him.
of the creek.
the scarlet eyes leapt. "what sorts'o things yew after?" he asked in the same shared tone, now fully interested despite his natural wariness.