Three days later, out on the ice, Jente was drilling the lads and lasses in keeping their feet in slippery places; she was also toying with a pair of boots, experimenting with ways to create more traction.
Engel stood at the edge of her demarcated battlefield beside her and watched her work.
“Are you punishing me?” he asked finally.
“It’s not my place to punish you,” she said.
“Then why are we here in this hellishly cold place with these ghost-pale children teaching them to fight?”
“We have a mission, and some of us are working to complete it.”
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