. . .

The goat is difficult to aim but still Hans manages.

The lady of winter is aware that this is a bargain, and of its price.

Thus Vaenwode finds his path blighted, again and again, by sudden snowfall; he slides and his gait grows stuttering on slicks of ice; he cannot walk the public roads, but must slip through the hedgerows and run on tended soil, where winter is uncertain if it should strike.

— after all, it would do no good to please Hans and earn her freedom by freezing Vaenwode, if the complaints of other svart-elves then displease him and he finds it better after all to bind her back.

The goat has no such fine sensibilities.

It tears through a line of trees like a razored wire. It is slowed only by the sharpness of its hooves, which occasionally mire it down into the solid stone. It tumbles towards Vaenwode like an apocalypse; and behind it, coming fast, is Hans.

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