These were no level, cultivated fields, but were totally in the wilds, as was most of the world. They were riddled by a network of deep, almost impassable erosion gullies that were choked through their centers by dense clusters of bamboo and great interwoven hoops of enormously spiked, thorny vines, and bordered by dense copses of green trees interspersed by tall grass.
"You may go and do with the body as you please," said Borla, half deprecatingly. "I know it is a difficult place to search, but you will find it in the nearest gully. I oversaw the entire unfortunate business myself."
Borla turned to Emperor Euphrates, and continued, "As with all dishonorable deaths, the body was left exposed, and not buried."
Angry tears in her eyes, Si'Wren stood there with the clay tablet in her right hand and stared up at Borla malevolently for a long, frozen moment.
"Highness," Borla said mildly, "it would appear that the great flood has already arrived, if one would judge by this maid's cheeks. Perhaps the messenger's story was but a clever parable pertaining to such."
Emperor Euphrates said nothing, and Si'Wren reflected that one's Emperor could do as he pleased, with none to dare speak against him. On the other hand, there appeared to be nothing to prevent her from going, either.
Mindful of what her unaccustomed task would entail, Si'Wren turned and gently laid the clay tablet with its marvelous truths, and terrible last inscriptions, just inside the entrance to her tent.
Inside, her fingers trembling with every move, she turned and retrieved a stone oil lamp and a sparking flint from her tent. As she did this, she realized that one thing more was needful, to accomplish what must be done.
She needed a tarp, and a woven blanket would not do. It must be something strong and durable enough to serve it's purpose and not snag on the weeds or rip open, that the burial should be fittingly accomplished.
Looking up, her eyes fixed upon the leather door flap of her tent, suspended across the opening.