The din of their screams, added to the larger
boy's outraged squeals of terror all rapidly diminished as they fled,
scattered like a flock of magpies.
L'acoci ignored Si'Wren's weeping as she pushed into her hands a crude
clay pot of herbal tea, a bowl of paste made from honey mixed with lard
and clay and crumbled leaves and flowers, and a coarse, dirty,
wadded-up old rag.
"Ah!" she exclaimed wordlessly, and blanched at her imagined 'error'.
L'acoci looked long and meaningfully at Si'Wren, but said nothing and
turned away finally without comment.
Feeling guilty about the monosyllabic utterance, although she had not
truly spoken any word, Si'Wren, trembling in fear, stepped over to
kneel carefully beside a stoically suffering Habrunt, her own concerns
temporarily overlooked. Head still reeling from the blows, she forgot
her bruises as she flinched at the renewed sight of his terrible
injuries.
She changed the bandages polluted by the stink of corruption, and
soothed on the paste L'acoci had made, before gently applying the
layers of fresh tea-soaked replacement gauze over Habrunt's ruined
flesh, exercising special care over the most fearsome gashes. Habrunt
trembled in agony at this, but when he realized who she was, he somehow
managed to hold still for it, although with much difficulty.
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