With every gesture, Master Rababull flecked Habrunt's blood on Si'Wren
as he shouted, "He has paid your debt! Verily is he your betrothed, for
he has paid also for your dowry with his blood and his rank, and shall
partake of your ignominy as well when you are finally sold at the next
auction, for he has entered into your own punishment! But even then he
shall not have you! I will see to that!"
In a towering rage, Master Rababull hurled the whip down at Si'Wren's
feet. It landed with a flat slapping sound and splattered red the
paving stones, still loosely coiled like a serpent poised to strike.
Then without looking as he walked off into the House, Master Rababull
said, "Take him away!"
Behind Master Rababull, Prut called briskly for several of his men to
come and pick up Habrunt.
Si'Wren, unharmed, waited until Master Rababull had finally departed,
and hastened to follow the bearers of Habrunt. She avoided the scornful
jeers of the other slaves, who were still too fearful to do anything to
her. When she arrived at the bungalow where they had taken him, Si'Wren
mourned at the sight of Habrunt lying unconscious on his stomach upon
the very same blood-stained litter which she had been given for a
sleeping rack during her convalescence.
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