The thought of this seemed like a great consolation to her.
She began humming softly as she worked gently on Habrunt's wounds, filling the silent, deserted bungalow with the quiet, lovely mood of her melody.
Habrunt sighed, and seemed to relax a little. She noticed this, and felt that he was more than a little eased in his sufferings. So she continued humming, ever so softly.
Presently others began to arrive, a few at a time, all of them female slaves or their children.
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. Occasionally, she lifted a cup of water to his lips, and resorted to wiping his beard with the dampened hem of her skirt.