Habrunt had shown his concern for her safety this night, but the memory
of earlier, when she had seen his terrible face and felt of his iron
grip in her hair, doing his utmost to convince Master Rababull that he
had not the slightest concern for Si'Wren's life, would not leave her
now, and tears streaked her cheeks as she shut her eyes in silent
anguish.
Downwind from the House, she could smell the wonderful scents of the
Master's best ceremonial incense mingled with the pungence of tobacco,
the tang of wine, and the huge feast with it's jasmine tea, roasted
melons stuffed with baked vegetables and breadstuffs, sweet seed cakes,
sugar-spices, candies, and honeyed foods.
Her head was woozy from the beating. Her bruised face seemed numb to
the touch, wherever she chanced to touch be it ever so delicately.
Raising her fingertips to her puffed lips, she felt a dried crust of
blood all around her nose and mouth and down the side of her upper lip,
chin, and throat. The inside of her mouth felt scummy. She had an
uncontrollable thirst, but found nothing to drink.
Then, a noise and a dark silhouette at the entrance to the bungalow
caused her to look up in unconscious renewed terror. She felt her eyes
widen, and then she saw Habrunt standing there, his downcast
countenance and the gleam of his bulging muscles appearing in the
flickering uncertain firelight like an apparition as the curtain was
drawn back by his large hand.
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