With L'acoci hovering over the stew, no one dared bother Si'Wren,
kneeling so close nearby.
The ravaged figure of brave Habrunt convalescing on the sleeping rack,
fallen from favor, gave them equal pause. Until the day he died,
Habrunt would never be the kind of man whom others might dare to mock
openly or deal so lightly with.
But Si'Wren hummed more softly anyways, and more quietly, that others
might not overhear so readily, to avoid giving them sufficient reason
to take open notice of it and perhaps voice false objections out of a
spirit of trouble-making. Presently, the others began murmuring amongst
themselves over the anticipated victory, and Habrunt and his young
nursemaid were ignored and forgotten.
Presently, L'acoci dipped up some stew into a clay bowl and gave it to
Si'Wren.
"You must feed him as well as yourself," said L'acoci, as she noticed
Si'Wren holding the one bowl in puzzlement.
Si'Wren had clearly expected two bowls, one for herself and another for
Habrunt. Hesitantly at first, she began alternating a portion for
herself and another for Habrunt, using sea shells for scoops. Habrunt
could not bear to move his tortured body, not so much as to lift a
finger, but Si'Wren was more than willing to make up for this by
helping him.
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