The Wild Man of Summersend wears breeches with hair belt; he eats grubs and honey. He tried eating locusts and honey but apparently you don’t get locusts in the woods. He spends his time vomiting grubs and accosting travelers. “Guilt!” he’ll shout, and hurl a mudball down the path.

“Hello, God-touched,” says the Knight respectfully, raising his visor to wipe away mud.

The Wild Man drops his next mudball and stares. “Whose face are you wearing?” he whispers.

“Nought but my own.”

“Whose face!” shouts the Wild Man, then sees the Knight’s burnished chest and remembers: ah, yes, the mirror’s.