Geth, momentarily unnoticed in all the excitement, studied Si'Wren a moment longer.
"Come!" Geth clapped his hands in stern, proprietary fashion. "Everyone; back to work! Have you all so soon forgotten your duties? To the fields, lest the Master see you so slack, and tempt the gods to work more such miracles on your backsides!"
At this, the foolish gawkers fled from their marveling over Si'Wren and returned anxiously to their work in the fields.
* * *
Slavemaster Habrunt approached his Master Rababull and dropped to one knee as he bowed low, and clapped his right fist across his hairy chest.
"You called, oh Master."
It was in the afternoon, and Master Rababull had heard strange tidings from the slave quarters.
He had sent for his Slavemaster to come to one of the most ominous places, the head of the wide, hand-hewn stone steps leading up the broad entrance of the House proper. It was where Master Rababull frequently met with those in whom he had found reason for some particularly odious displeasure, and the significance of this was not lost on Habrunt, who was at pains to look oblivious.
"Slavemaster," said Master Rababull deliberately, "did I not command you to punish my servant Si'Wren for her reckless abuse of one of Sorpiala's noble slave-cohorts? What is this mad talk I hear about 'miracles'?"
Habrunt kept his head bowed, eyes locked on the stone steps as he replied in a low, and what he hoped would be a genuinely confused tone of voice, "I know not, Master Rababull. I only know that I fulfilled my Master's wish to punish the servant; ten lashes of the whip, which I laid upon her as commanded."