She realized, looking unsteadily around in the
semi-darkness, that she was alone, and she could hear the distant
sounds of celebration emanating from the Master's House.
Her head was swimming and there was a terrible pain in it.
The lilting sing-song sounds of the musicians drifted across the
compound and teased at her ears, lulling her somnambulantly to the
accompaniment of the rhythmic chi-chi-ching-ching of finger cymbals,
and the reedy reeee-eeeee-eeeee-ree-ree-rooo-rooo-roo-ooooooooooooo of
the wood pipes.
Shame filled her soul as she remembered the death of Nelatha, and the
terrible danger that had befallen her later after dark, when she had
narrowly escaped after wandering foolishly out into the wilds all alone
when Habrunt had come suddenly and unexpectedly to rescue her from the
evil ministrations of the two evil men he had slain.
But for Habrunt she would surely have suffered a terrible fate at their
hands.
Now, only now, did Si'Wren fully and truly understand what Habrunt had
risked to slay the sons of the noblemen in favor of one so lowly as
she. Should Master Rababull ever find out the truth, his vengeance upon
both herself and Habrunt would be fearsome and terrible.
At thought of this, Si'Wren's remorse was compounded ten-fold by the
bitter memories of the many fond smiles and cheery looks which Master
Rababull had so often bestowed upon her from earliest memory.
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