He proceeded with Si'Wren still in tow, her small hand engulfed in his
huge one as he approached to where a large number of onlookers was
gathered idly around some unseen activity, and as he approached the
outskirts of the crowd he barked commandingly, "Step aside!" and "Make
way there!"
So speaking, Habrunt shouldered through their midst. When he reached
the center of the crowd, he stood with Si'Wren before the old
Physician, who was already busy at his work with the man with a
toothache from the caravan.
Onlookers were conversing with one another in hushed voices from a
respectful distance, still too fearful to speak directly to Habrunt or
his young prisoner. When a slave met such a fate as Nelatha's, it was
dangerous to risk even the slightest unintentional aggravation. Better
to let well enough alone. None dared say so much as a single word to
grim-looking Habrunt or the timid one he escorted.
Nelatha was dead. Habrunt, supremely miserable, hid his grief and
pretended to ignore them all. When he looked once into Si'Wren's eyes,
he found only continued fear and bewilderment. Well, he had at least
done her this little kindness, and spared her the dread of her original
sentence. Perhaps she did not, even now, realize what had been
pronounced upon her head, before he interceded so recklessly.
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