Then he also
dipped the heads of a handful of long severed wheat stalks in the blood
pouch and shook it over Si'Wren, spattering her skin liberally with the
blood.
Then he knelt down in the tall grass so low as to be completely out of
view from anyone watching, stooping close beside Si'Wren.
Still in shock, Si'Wren watched as he scooped up a handful of small
pebbles and cupped his hand carefully as he poured them into the pouch.
Without a word to her, he noosed the pouch and knotted it tightly so
that it's contents might not chance to escape.
Then he rose to full stature and he stood over her, his face
expressionless as he coiled the bloody whip and held it in a
red-stained fist. Without so much as a backward glance at her, he
turned on his heel and marched down the slope to the stream, where he
cast the pouch far into the middle of the peaceful beaver pond. It hit
with a small splash and sank. Because the pond was on the far side of
the hill from the others and blocked them from view, none saw what he
did.
Then, finished, Habrunt turned and marched off to make his regular
rounds.
Up on the top of the hill, Si'Wren lay motionless in the grass, utterly
bewildered.
Each time Habrunt had cracked the whip at her she had cringed
involuntarily, only to hear as it banged harmlessly above her and spent
it's fearsome energy upon the air before falling uselessly across her
prostrate and quivering body.
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