All that is gold does not glitter.

"You stop that, girl."

Bethany bit at her lip. It helped alleviate some of the pain in her swollen feet. Girl – that form of address alone was enough to rankle her. She'd never objected to it before, in Lothering or Kirkwall, but after five days of being called girl, like she was nothing more than a mabari bitch, when she clearly had a name…

"My name is Bethany," she said, under her breath, but not loud enough for Stroud to hear. The recruit at her side, Grange, gave her a cool look but said nothing more.

One of the few things she could say in Stroud's favor was that, like Grange, he wasn't eying her up.

She repeated her name in her head: Bethany Hawke, Bethany Hawke. I am a mage. I had a twin named Carver and a sister named Marian. Have. I suppose. She didn't dare think of Mother. Stroud hated tears, though she had only shed them once, and then only hardly.

She reached for her necklace, fingering it in the manner Stroud so enjoyed condemning. Even her personal habits seemed to fall under his jurisdiction, she thought sharply. She paused. Her staff had become a common walking stick, and she leaned on it then, taking the barest of breaks.

In that time, Stroud strode over to her and tore the necklace off.

The chain snapped easily, but Bethany's hand flew to her neck anyway. Stroud held the chain in his big hand, the thin links sticking out of his grasp like intestines from some goring.

"I do not like to repeat myself," he said dryly, and he dropped the necklace on the wayside.

She could feel Grange's pity and disdain, mixed together in a confused mess. She refused to meet his eye, and she didn't have to, once he started treading onward.

She thought of the little pearl, a tiny Amell heirloom that her mother had gifted her when she was young. It used to be a plaything, an instrument of make-believe. Heiresses, Bethany believed then, wore single pearls on silver chains.

"Are you coming, girl?"

Bethany felt the heat of the mid-afternoon sun on her face as she turned to face Stroud.

Slowly, one movement after another, her feet found the strength to walk.

"You are one of us now," Stroud said, a bit more softly, and Bethany did not reply. A reply was not called for. It was only a fact. She would have to accept it, as she had accepted all things in her life. It was acceptance or death.

She turned her mind from the chain, that old glint in the dust, and hoped that another girl might find it.