Rhona: Hah! Not much of a Shot, are you, Flint?

Flint: You should know, Dinsmore.

Rhona: I should, after studying you for so long.

Flint: Then you finally admit your Obsession with me!

Rhona: And how many Men have you sent after me, just this week, Flint?

Flint: What did you expect? That I would come in Person? You overestimate your Importance.

Rhona: You’re a Pig, Flint.

Flint: Oh… don’t be stroppy, Dinsmore.

Rhona: Oh, don’t be such a Beard-Splitter.

Flint: Is that what you tell all the Lads at the Punch House?

Rhona: I would, but you always beat me to it.

Flint: Ape Leader!

Rhona: Dandy Prat.

Flint: Addle-plot.

Rhona: Catch-fart.

Flint: Stop! I’m blushing.

Rhona: Oh, you make me Ill.


“My mother was an archer.”


“…-yeah. She said it took as much discipline to shoot an arrow as it did to swing a blade.” She lifted the bow again and lined up the arrow, glaring at the target ahead - “I told her there was cowardice in archery.” - and released the projectile.

“When Howe attacked, I had never actually killed anyone before, and I panicked. I was one of the best trained in dual swords in Highever, Duncan’s first choice in recruits…and even with my blades I was terrified. She stayed calm, though. Were it not for her coward’s bow and arrow, I wouldn’t have survived.”