"Good!" he said loudly and pointedly to Geth.
Then he raised his fistful of grain and regarded it with equal levity, before turning to Si'Wren. He held out the grain to her. Regarding it dumbly for a moment, Si'Wren saw him nod encouragement to her, and she took the clump of grain together with the clinging dirt and roots from his hand.
"Go with him, little one," he said, in a soft and kindly voice. Then, turning suddenly on Geth, he tilted his head back and declared, "Geth, does she not come to you with grain already to hand? Take it, and be satisfied. Behold, I, Habrunt, Slavemaster of the House of Rababull, have spoken."
This was intended purely and solely for Geth's wise old ears, and had been formally pronounced to show that Habrunt was in dire earnest, and would be greatly displeased if further contradicted.
Then he turned brusquely on his heel and strode off to go and make his rounds.
As Habrunt departed steadily through the gently waving fields, Geth hefted a large, ungainly scythe in one hand, and turned almost timidly to Si'Wren.
"Come," he said.
Si'Wren looked up with fearful eyes at his weathered old countenance.
Geth regarded her queerly, as if he had never seen her before, and then repeated more quietly to her, "Come girl," this time with a more reassuring nod.
He crinkled his face in an unaccustomed smile, and tilted his head as he nodded unpracticed encouragement to her. For as Fieldmaster, he was accustomed to giving orders and having them obeyed without question, and greatly unused was he to meting out such pampering as he had been gravely challenged by Habrunt to bestow so freely upon this shy one.