After an habitual inquiry as to the progress of the harvest, Habrunt
said to the old Fieldmaster, "This is Si'Wren, of the spice tent. She
had the misfortune to be held accountable for the very stones that come
from the ground as well as the herbs she was so skilled at grinding,
and found wanting by the Master. She is sworn to a vow of silence, and
now she is to become a field worker."
Geth, as aware of events as anybody, nodded his shrewd understanding,
frowning with a face like old leather.
"Always use more help during the harvest," he said, characteristically
sparse of words. One's very breath, so Si'Wren seemed to gather, was
the better to be employed in more productive pursuits.
"Good," said Habrunt. "See thou to it, and to her health as well.
Methinks she was attacked by a madman during the last full moon and has
been some time in the recovery. Now that she is nearly well again, the
good Master would see some recompense at her own hand. She is still of
tender years, and as yet infirm from her days of recovery. The House of
Rababull would be greatly displeased, if she should be worked too hard,
and fall ill again before full repayment has been made to the Master
for her foolishness."
Habrunt leaned forward significantly at this point, his menacing manner
quite obvious.
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