His overly cheerful and false friendly tone grated on her nerves. She sped up her steps in a fruitless effort to put some distance between them. He simply walked faster. Feeling him only a few meters behind, her wand hand itched. What she wouldn't give to be able to at least sting him in the gut with a spell! Her magic would be tracked and her position uncovered. Antonin might be willing to ignore the Dark Lord's orders that the Resistance's section of Devon be avoided. He had little to fear from the Resistance and less to fear from their master. It had been easy to tell for a long time that he was growing weak. Soon, a day would come when not even the most heinous and darkest of magicks would keep his increasingly frail body animated. The head of the snake would die, leaving the body in severe jeopardy. Unless a strong enough candidate stepped forward with near-unanimous support, the Resistance could swoop in and reclaim their lost country.