As she went she made a strange sort of droning, humming, melancholy noise all on two notes.

Anthea could not help thinking that perhaps the girl thought this noise was singing.
The girl filled the pitcher and set it down by the river bank.

Then she waded into the water and stooped over the circle of cut reeds.

She pulled half a dozen fine fish out of the water within the reeds, killing each as she took it out, and threading it on a long osier that she carried.

Then she knotted the osier, hung it on her arm, picked up the pitcher, and turned to come back.