He stepped outside, and held the tent flap considerately for her as he
waited for her to follow.
Habrunt's countenance was like lightening, as his eyes which seemed
ever to smile upon Si'Wren, somehow managed to appear so fierce unto
all others as to strike terror into their hearts, be they of a spiteful
mein or no, and all of this with but one and the same expression of his
stony features.
When she was ready, he started out at a deliberately slow pace to
enable her to keep up easily and follow dutifully close behind him. As
they neared the fields, he could tell from glancing back at her once
that, weakened from her long illness, she was already badly winded
merely from the walk.
He brought her to Geth, the short, stout old Fieldmaster, Geth of
balding head, all white of hair and long-fringed beard, with a wrinkled
old face that had seen more summers in the fields than the rocks
themselves, for all Si'Wren knew.
Across the windswept waves of undulating grain, interspersed with a few
weeds and brush, the harvesters worked steadily, too far to clearly
discern their bowed and sweaty faces.
Clasping hands, Habrunt greeted Geth with a man's greeting, and
accepted the offer of a drink from the water skin. Si'Wren respectfully
declined to do likewise.
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