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To their mutual delight they had to share the back seat as they slippeddiscreetly away from the care home to Octavia's house.Octavia's house was an impressive Victorian folly with a turreted cornerand Gothic windows set in dressed stone walls. It resembled a miniatureversion of a Scottish Lairds Castle set in some fairly spacious grounds.The girl's eyes widened as the car crunched up the gravel drive."D'you live here all alone?" asked Jenny, speaking for all four conjoinedgirls."Sadly yes," replied Octavia, " When mum died I inherited it and Icouldn't let it go. It's got lots of happy memories." Who cleans it?" asked Sandra, ever the practical one and reflecting hertypical outlook."I have a woman in three days a week. It doesn't get very dirty, there'sonly me so most of the rooms don't get used much."Octavia climbed up the flight of steps to the front door, unlocked it andthen offered help to Jenny and Marge."I think we can do it ourselves now," declared Marge as the pair. She had no quibbles regarding his motive, this prison was for containment, not death by cold. He had done it out of duty, not compassion. The Cassiline brotherhood's hatred of her kind was a well known fact. Now, in the courtyard, the figure moved. Removing his heavy grey robe, he folded it neatly and placed it on the ground nearby. He wore woollen trousers of the same grey, precisely cut and fitted to his lean frame. Naked from the waist up, he was muscular, but wiry, the tendons in his chest undulating beneath his pale skin as he began his exercises. It was the same cycle of movements practiced by every guard of the brotherhood. Part military formation, part stretching, part meditation. He flowed from one position to the next with an ease born from years of repetition. She leant back against the stone wall, and watched him. The cold seeped through the woollen blanket that hung around her, cooling her flushed skin. This was the best hour of her day. Beads of sweat had begun to form.
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