Si'Wren felt cold, numbing fear. Something big was up. Something evil.
She knew everyone there. Only the very newest additions to the House of
Rababull did she not know by name as well as by face. She watched with
dire feelings and the gravest of misgivings as Rababull examined the
injured boy who lay moaning and writhing in the arms of his weeping
mother.
Then he turned and questioned the two slaves who had argued, each of
them the father of one of the two boys around whom the entire matter
was centered.
The boy who had previously hidden himself was a known trouble-maker. He
was a bully of the worst sort, always picking on others smaller than
himself. Si'Wren had never known what to think of him, except to steer
clear at every opportunity, for she knew that all too soon, he would be
a man and whereas now was only a pest, would then be dangerous to her
and the other women. The unruly boy had been disciplined before many
times, invariably as much for his actual excesses as for his spiteful
and miserable attitude.
Rababull finally took the little trouble-maker by the arm and
frog-marched him over to the injured boy. He said something to Habrunt,
who responded by holding up the injured boy's head so all could see the
ruined eye socket.
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