A small knife produced from the gods only knew where, the Faun was only wearing a scarf, freed Quintus’s hands and he struggled to his feet. The Faun took a quick step back from him, smiling nervously.
“Well, it’s this way, then,” It said with a gesture and started to walk away.
“Why are you helping me? It’s not safe. I’m being, pursued. By bad people,” Quintus asked.
“I know,” Tumnus said, its expression serious. “I know what’s chasing you. But, you and I both know you’ll be much better off with a meal and a good rest. Right?”
Quintus didn’t know what to say to that. In principle it seemed like sound reasoning, but what reason had he to trust this Faun. For all he knew it might be working for the Picts. It might lead him right to them.
“Well, are you coming?”