She gives him fair warning that she is about to play her hand--as fair as warning of this kind can get, at any rate. She looks him in the eye, intensity gathering in her like a wild animal before it leaps, and then--

"I would have drown them where they stood, like they drown that man, but I have never been good with knives."

He recalls that sudden cold on the forest path during their solitary walk towards the Deep Forest, the faint scent of ozone and frost--

"Johanna," he begins slowly, and though he doesn't smile, there's a brief glimmer of something almost like satisfaction in his eyes, because he was right. "You would not have needed the knife."