Siegfried continues in a tone that flexes, unsubtly, his power. “I told my lord I would rather let you go home. Indeed, if you decided to walk out that door forever, I would not stop you. But you would not get very far, I fear. Night will soon fall and you could drown in the river or worse without a lantern. A strange woman traveling alone in these parts is never taken as a good omen. In full daylight, you wouldn’t be able to find your way back even if you tried, given the distance and the fact that you weren’t exactly attentive on the way here. I think it should be obvious that whatever life awaits you here in the town is far better than starving to death in some village on the periphery of my lord’s territory. What I mean is, you are not my captive.”

Petra nods slowly. The longer Siegfried goes on, the more she clings to silence as though it could be stolen from her. It is difficult for her to process Siegfried’s rapid speech, to make sense of the German lisp that plagues it. He talks to the point of excess. Sometimes he speaks in a meandering way, as though speaking were some kind of game or sport. Other times he speaks urgently, as though he needs it to breathe. The vague notion of what will happen when he finishes speaking clouds out the contents of his words. Petra fights against the return of her tremble.