Swept by dire apprehensions, Si'Wren sought about fearfully where to
conceal herself, and was about to resort to ducking down in the tall
grass, when suddenly one of Sorpiala's cohorts cried out oddly like
some wild bird as she victoriously pointed out Si'Wren's location.
Sorpiala and the others looked also, and immediately altered their
course to intercept Si'Wren.
Caught flat-footed, Si'Wren quailed within herself as she stood stock
still and waited hopelessly for them to draw near. Si'Wren felt
overwhelmed by a dizzy, empty feeling of utter helplessness. She felt
her heart pounding rapidly within her as she tried to calm herself, but
in spite of this her breathing became even more tortuous and labored.
The women strolled over to her through the tall wild grasses commingled
with the waving stalks of grain, chatting animatedly to one-another as
they all stared boldly at her. This was their hour of victory, and they
reveled openly in it, flattering themselves with a pretense of
false-charity towards Si'Wren while beneath the surface, as with the
pond earlier, could be seen, symbolically, the lurking, half-seen
catfish of their muck-racking innermost thoughts.
"You know, I had heard that Si'Wren's face was all scarred up," said
one young woman.
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