<div class="floatright">(http://images.fanpop.com/images/image_uploads/Details-Magazine-christina-ricci-688022_387_500.jpg)</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Abigail's eyes shot over to Delilah as she begged Peter's indulgence for the newcomers. Abigail glowered; she had ever suspected the impossibly beautiful dancer of being an outlander - her willingness to accept strangers, much less queer-looking strangers like the male, only confirmed it. She exhaled slowly through her nose, weighing her words. She had nothing against Delilah, beyond her foreignness - she was a dancing savant, and her lithe, swanlike grace had made Abigail's evenings at the tavern a deal more enjoyable. There was only so much fun Abigail could glean from sitting in the corner and gleefully reading the minds of the Ivy's patrons - by the eighth or ninth drunkard who was imagining either her or Delilah or Doroka on their backs, the game got boring, and she dared not push deeper lest she alert the unsuspecting revelers to her intrusion.<br/><br/>Unbidden by any conscious thought, Abigail felt her fingers relax their grip on her knife, and her shoulders sag as her hackles were soothed. That was the effect Delilah had on others, even girls, Abigail had found. Her unearthly beauty underwrote a gentle charm that was impossible to ignore. Even if she was an outlander, Abigail mused with a curled lip.<br/><br/>It was then came the call that a wagon approached. Abigail's gaze followed the crowd, though rather then squint to make out the approaching travellers she let her gaze blur and then fade, slipping - with some effort - into Lenore, who gave a lazy circle of the wagon before rushing back to pecking at the fat worm she'd unearthed. Abigail's consciousness was forced back into her own body with a start and for a moment she blinked stupidly in the throng of assembled peasants, regaining her senses. She felt the raven winnowing at the edges of her mind and scolded her, squeezing the bridge of her nose and shaking her head quickly as if to dislodge a daze.<br/><br/>"Stonelicker," she muttered, as she started to make sense of what Lenore's gaze had shown her. She looked to Delilah, then back to Peter, and drummed a beat on the hilt of her knife. Tahnok was suddenly a hive of activity. It was, she thought, perhaps time to consider moving on. The Witchmark was a big place - big enough for a girl to lose herself in free from the damning influence of outlanders and subhuman filth. Abigail shuddered suddenly, and gulped back unbidden thoughts of the last time she'd put her trust in outlanders. She spat, and elbowed her way through the crowd so that she was in the front row, ignoring the grunts of annoyance or pain, and taking a second to put up the Devil Horns to the three or four who recognised her from the tavern and accused her of witchcraft. "I am not a witch," Abigail spat at them, her eyes burning deep into their own until, chastened by her gesture, they were forced to look away.<br/><br/>At the front, she could now see Peter, Delilah and the two riders clearer than before. There was no doubting the lady was highborn, and that unsettled Abigail no end, but her companion gave her pause. He had a ghoulish look about him, but Abigail had seen the risen dead before - and his countenance was as nothing she had ever seen. Something thrummed in the back of her mind, a lust that licked at her and demanded to be aroused. She cocked her head as she stared at the male rider. Were that this even just two weeks ago...Abigail considered reaching out and molesting his mind then and there, laying bare all his secrets before he could think to stop her. The temptation was almost intoxicating, and Abigail had to grip the side of her robes to stop herself reaching into her pouch for a copper piece that would bring the magic alive.<br/><br/>Finally, Abigail nodded at Delilah's words, and too a step forwards. "What business have you in the 'Mark?" she called up to them. There were a few gasps and mutters behind her; it was one thing for the attractive tavern dancer to question the village headman. But that the girl the villagers, in their peasant ignorance, accused of being a witch had now taken an interest was cause for consternation, Abigail knew. She counted on it, in fact - it meant her words carried weight, even without the threat of magic that could scald the flesh off Peter with a bored wave of a hand. "And prithee tell it has nought to do with the dwarf. We've seen enough of their kind in Lupravia." <em>And more besides,</em> a voice in the back of Abigail's mind told her. Somewhere in the distance, Lenore cawed triumphantly.</div>