To be sure, Tibara was the village where most caravan slaves were quartered. A lodge had been built there for that purpose and it was in frequent use. Naturally, it was maintained by the villagers. But that was even less excuse for shoddiness. This should be the neatest, best kept village in all Kira Barra. It wasn’t.
The frown deepened. This time, Tibara was going to be cleaned up, and he’d keep his attention on it. The village would stay clean if the villagers had to spend every second of their time on it when they weren’t taking care of their herds, their boats, and their guest lodge.
And there’d be no slacking in those other areas, either.
He looked around the clearing. There were, he was forced to admit, no idlers about at the moment. The only people he could see were women and children. And the women were busily occupied.
Again, he studied the scene. The men would be coming in from their fields and from the lake in another hour. He would examine a few other villages, then return his attention to Tibara.
Wearily, Retonga, headman of Tibara, pulled himself to a sitting position. He looked over to the other side of the room. Mir was already on her [p 37] feet. She smiled at him uncertainly.
“It’s morning,” she said. “Rest day, at last.”
“Yes.” Retonga closed his eyes for an instant. It had been bad for her, too, he knew. He’d probably been pretty hard to live with these past few days. He sighed.
“Rest day,” he mused.
“But it means nothing. There’s still work. There’s always work these days.” He got to his feet.