Angus leans back against her legs, his meaning plain. They should go. Whoever this man is, he's not the sort of person they want to get mixed up with, dream or no. Surely there is more pleasant company to be found elsewhere.

But they're standing on an otherwise-unoccupied island with nowhere else specific to go, and no way to ensure they won't simply be followed. What is she supposed to do, hike up her skirts and leg it? Vaguely menacing as he might be, he hasn't given her cause for that.

"We had Giants," she says flatly, "and Wolves, and Witches, and Curses. And that was quite enough to be getting on with without..." she flaps a hand at him, "Deal-Makers, if that's what you are."