"Oh. No. No need. Your sheep can go where they please. As far as it concerns me," said Morrigan and watched the woman who seemed, so to speak, the guardian of the creatures. After she looked at her until she was satisfied to have seen all that was to be remembered—a young face and dark hair in contrast, a melancholic air around her, perhaps invested with some unknown secret—Morrigan inspected her sleeves. They were indeed wet but mostly intact. Sheep, it appeared, had very blunt teeth. "Who are you?" Morrigan inquired of the woman. "I have never seen you around here. I walk here many days, to think."

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