"If you're not going to tell me about the turnips why would I ask you about the undead warlords?" It seemed to her that leading with smaller questions yielded a better chance of getting answers, and any information was useful information.

The way he repeated what she'd had to say before tacking his own question on at the end reminded her of those police dramas her Mum and Dad liked to watch. His question made her shudder, as her hand went to her bruised wrist, grimacing.

"By the lake. That, that thing." Her expression soured, and she shook her head. "That thing in the lake," either unwilling or unable to continue - the ordeal had been miserable and its finer points were still hazy - she held up the wrist she'd been rubbing, letting Five get a look at the handprint shaped bruise around it.