When I got to my carriage, I was a bit disappointed that I had actually considered the girl’s plan to leave the station. I was glad I had met her, though, because it meant there was a little village or town nearby. Perhaps I would explore the area and meet her parents or guardian. Or maybe she was an orphan and she had made up her wild story about the three men who had sent her to an institution or to her guardians or adopted parents. I wondered if her belief in the stealing of brains and stories was because she combined elements of her biological parents with that of her adopted parents. Poor child. She seemed tough, though, and resilient.
That night I heard the steady patter of rain against the carriage’s window and I pictured her watching out from her bedroom, terrified of her paladin
