He took out a clean cloth and formed it into a cup-shape in one hand, and poured out a little tea onto it, letting it soak in. Then, he carefully began ever so gently wiping away the congealed saliva and dried blood from her face, her lips, her chin, and her throat. After that, he untied a small clay bottle from his belt, refolded the dampened cloth to a clean side, and unstopped the little bottle to tilt it's mouth over the cloth, and applied some of it's contents thereon.
Again, he wiped her entire face and forehead, her throat, up around her ears, and across the back of her neck. His touch was gentle all over her head and neck, as he anointed the semi-conscious girl with a thin, soothing layer of purest olive oil.
He surveyed her face again, noting once more, with the same inner, grim satisfaction as before, that she had suffered no apparent lasting injury despite much swelling and bruises. He felt small solace in this, but as it was yet within his power, he would surely command whatever he might in her behalf.
Suddenly, footsteps could be heard approaching the entrance from outside, and she sensed him rise in the flickering shadows and step to one side of the door. There he stood tall and motionless before her, waiting for the footsteps to carry past. The approaching footsteps were accompanied by an admixture of slurred male and female voices, perhaps four people in all.
Their unseen progress could be followed by the changing aspects of the snatches and sudden outbursts of laughter to which they resorted in their senseless and continuous amusement at everything around them, including themselves.
The golden gleam of Habrunt's bronze sword flashed before Si'Wren's eyes, making her catch her breath in fear.
Some of their words could be indistinctly made out, and Habrunt realized that the men were from the nearby city, talking with pent-up anticipation of having a good time with a couple of lush young girls from the caravan, whom they were taking to a nearby garden gazebo, a flimsy trellis of bamboo, stone, and clinging green vines.
Habrunt scowled. Still more of Rababull's 'party favors', no doubt. Four had already died this night, besides Nelatha, and another savagely beaten. What would be the tally by dawn's light?
As their noisome prittle-prattle faded into the distance, Habrunt felt the danger pass. He turned away from Si'Wren, and stepped out into the night without another word, gone with such stealth that he slipped away as silently as he had come.
She shivered, beginning to tremble feverishly all over.