Handy watched her leave, fuming. He had made a rookie’s mistake, but that was what he got for trying to one-up a changeling at the emotional manipulation game. He grumbled and groused when the door closed and wracked his head on how to get around this one now that his attempt was dashed. He sighed and checked his rags he called clothes. Yeah, no, shit was cold. He was going to need to do something about that, maybe pick up sewing or something and repair clothes as he went. Also, his boots were practically falling apart, and he checked his hammer which, out of all his gear, was standing up the best to the daily abuse he put it all through. The witch was right; he should be taking better care of it.