The Guttersnipe twisted her mouth to one side, thinking about that. It began to feel a little awkward sitting with Domitia. They came from such widely differing backgrounds. She could barely remember her life before her Lord Ambrosius and the friendly boxings from Artos' fists: hers was a history of security, of happiness, a world of good, bright things, things that mattered, things to fight for. Domitia's world had been torn from her and replaced with an endless cycle of fear, subjugation, and sickness. Like the sun and the moon.
"Well," she said gustily. "It's my Lord Ambrosius, you know. He's the one who does it. You can meet us, people like Gwenhywfar and Master Lucius - Artos, Jason, myself - but if you meet my Lord Ambrosius... You've been to the shore? You've felt the waves pull you when you're in the surf? They're strong, and sometimes frightening. But that one wave, that one yank of riptide in a storm - that's my Lord Ambrosius. That's why Vortigern fears him. He's powerful, and good, and like a spear out of Lugh's fist." And she left off to let Domitia think for a moment about whose hands and what kind of people into whose hands she had fallen.
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