Then she untied the tent flap, and took down her little sewing kit in a
leathern bag, which consisted of a single thin bone needle, a
collection of fine sinew strands, and a flint cutting stone too small
to be called a knife, but more like a crude flaying tool.
Backing away from the blessedly stationary horse, which still neighed
and stamped his hooves at the distant hyenas, Si'Wren began to uncoil
the rope as she descended the broad, gently sloping shoulder of the
ravine again. It was not too steep where the body lay, and she did not
need to use the rope to keep her from losing her balance.
Nearing the body, which lay face-down, she waded ankle-deep through the
white-streaked blue trumpet flowers and little round green leaves of
the morning glories and positioned herself, before spreading out the
tent flap with a quick shake and a sudden snapping motion to lay it out
close beside the body. Because of the morning glories, the tent flap
did not fall immediately flat, but suspended itself just above the
ground, in a lumpy sheet that continued to settle gradually but more
slowly after the initial crush.
After a brief, distracted visual once-over to make sure the flap was as
well-positioned as she could get it, she bent over the man and
endeavored to roll him over onto the expanse of the tent flap, so that
he should come to rest lying squarely upon it face-up.
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