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‘Best we leave her to her own thoughts and habits for now,’ said Cook, speaking low as she drew Ginger aside. ‘The Big Folk have their own way of facing down problems. Somewhat like those snapping turtles down at The Pool, or so I’ve come to think. They draw in their heads and legs all tight beneath their hard shells. And my, oh my, but they are snappish indeed if you try to prod them.’
Ginger furrowed her brow and looked over toward the Innkeeper. ‘My sister and I once tried to pry out one of those turtle’s heads when we were little. Lilly, she poked and prodded, and thumped on the old fellow’s shell.’ Ginger shook her curls at the memory. ‘Nearly bit her fingertip off, that old snapper did.’
‘Exactly!’ agreed Cook, nodding at the conjured image. ‘She’ll either come round,’ she went on, jutting her chin at Aman, ‘or she won’t. That’s just the way with them.’
Cook looked over toward the table where Derufin, Andwise, and the lads all sat. ‘Looks to me as if dessert should be offered round . . . don’t you think?’ she reached up to tuck a stray red curl behind the girl’s ear. ‘There! Now you look just fine,’ she went on, straightening Ginger’s apron a bit. Ginger picked up her tray and scurried off to the kitchen, giving the table where Aman sat a wide berth.
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