Lanisen is in the back of the kennel building, sitting on a low stool, deep in conversation with a silver-black deerhound.
Imogen walks into the kennels, holding herself perfectly straight, her hair pulled neatly back. She peers owlishly through her spectacles as she tries to get her bearings.
Lanisen glances up as the door opens. He gives the deerhound a quiet command accompanied by a hand signal, and she flops down, tail flipping. Lanisen grabs his stick, hauls himself up, and limps off toward the door. “Afternoon, ma’am,” he says, dipping his head respectfully. “‘Fraid Master Danall’s not in right now.”
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Lanisen is nowhere in sight. The door to the kennels, however, is ajar, creaking in the slight breeze. A scratching noise can be heard from the other side, and it widens just enough to permit a brindle muzzle to poke through to Outside. There is a holler from inside the kennel, and a greyhound pup squeezes through the crack to make a bid for freedom.
Imogen strides through the ward with a walk that is so purposeful it might almost be categorized as defiant (though what she is defying is unclear). She holds her chin high and gives no sign of insecurity. This is a woman who keeps herself apart; she avoids eye contact and she does not greet any of the other passers-by.
Continue reading bid for escape