She thought he must be angry at her, and deservedly so, but
she saw no wrath in the quiet look of compassion with which he studied
her. His eyes were steady and calm.
"Fear not, little one," said Habrunt, his voice a deep, soft
reassurance to her. "No one shall pluck thee from my hand."
At this, her eyes lifted up to his in surprise, and she saw his
forefinger raised vertically against his pursed lips, beneath
cautiously furrowed masculine eyebrows, the universal gesture for
silence and secret comradeliness.
He leaned forward towards her, and bent down, and kissed her gently on
the forehead.
Eyelids shutting reflexively, she tingled all over, from her aching
head to her tiny feet, at the soft touch of his lips. She quivered all
inside at the furriness of his thick beard, and the brush of his long
wavy locks where they fell from beneath his leather headband against
her numbed face.
He took out a clean cloth and formed it into a cup-shape in one hand,
and poured out a little tea onto it, letting it soak in. Then, he
carefully began ever so gently wiping away the congealed saliva and
dried blood from her face, her lips, her chin, and her throat. After
that, he untied a small clay bottle from his belt, refolded the
dampened cloth to a clean side, and unstopped the little bottle to tilt
it's mouth over the cloth, and applied some of it's contents thereon.
Pages:
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117
118
119
120
121
122
123