Ian: Mr. Bug. It was by my hand that this woman of great worth has died. I didn’t take her life by malice or of a purpose, and it is a sorrow to me. I swear by my iron, a life for a life.
Mr. Bug: Too easy, lad. Will you give me your hound to kill?
Ian: No. It was my kind, not his.
Mr. Bug: Aye, do you see then? He’s not. He’s a flea-ridden beast, not a wife. When you’ve something worth taking, ye’ll see me again. That I promise ye.