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That night the Riders dragged him to their campfire and put him to work cutting roots and turning spitted game. At the end of it, his payment was leg of waterfowl and flat bread slapped into his palm, and a shove out into the dark.
He stumbled away from the fire and the raucous gathering there,through the milling captives until he found Sealchild. The tall man was laying out tattered blankets with quiet competence. Two little girls, their dark curls tangled with road muck, sat by, watching him work.
"My daughters," Sealchild said in reply to his confused look.
"Where is your," he stopped. The word didn't exist, exceptly wrongly. He forced it out anyway, "wife?"
Sealchild looked sad, nd nodded his head away, indicating the Riders gathered by great fire. "Yonder. They keep us apart."
The man coughed, embarassed.
"Here," he divided the flat bread in half, and lay half the duck meat in it, handing it to Sealchild.
"This is your food."
"I choose to share it. We are friends, are we not?"
Sealchild frowned for a moment, then smiled and nodded. As the tall man settled back, the two girls crept forward and snuggled against their father.
The man rebuked himself when Sealchild tore his half of the bread apart, and handed bits to the girls. Hastily, he ripped hiw own part, and added strips of meat pulled from the remaining bone of duck. Sealchild smiled again, murmured thanks, and they ate together.
"You're Papa's Captain, aren't you?" the bigger girl asked.
"Am I?"
Sealchild nodded. "We were soldiers, I think. Though for who or in what cause, I do not remember."
"What's your name?" the girl persisted. "Mine's Olivia."
"Hmm. Turnspit, I think. That's what the Riders called me, anyway."
Olivia giggled. "That's a funny name."
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That night the Riders dragged him to their campfire and put him to work cutting roots and turning spitted game. At the end of it, his payment was leg of waterfowl and flat bread slapped into his palm, and a shove out into the dark.
He stumbled away from the fire and the raucous gathering there,through the milling captives until he found Sealchild. The tall man was laying out tattered blankets with quiet competence. Two little girls, their dark curls tangled with road muck, sat by, watching him work.
"My daughters," Sealchild said in reply to his confused look.
"Where is your," he stopped. The word didn't exist, exceptly wrongly. He forced it out anyway, "wife?"
Sealchild looked sad, nd nodded his head away, indicating the Riders gathered by great fire. "Yonder. They keep us apart."
The man coughed, embarassed.
"Here," he divided the flat bread in half, and lay half the duck meat in it, handing it to Sealchild.
"This is your food."
"I choose to share it. We are friends, are we not?"
Sealchild frowned for a moment, then smiled and nodded. As the tall man settled back, the two girls crept forward and snuggled against their father.
The man rebuked himself when Sealchild tore his half of the bread apart, and handed bits to the girls. Hastily, he ripped hiw own part, and added strips of meat pulled from the remaining bone of duck. Sealchild smiled again, murmured thanks, and they ate together.
"You're Papa's Captain, aren't you?" the bigger girl asked.
"Am I?"
Sealchild nodded. "We were soldiers, I think. Though for who or in what cause, I do not remember."
"What's your name?" the girl persisted. "Mine's Olivia."
"Hmm. Turnspit, I think. That's what the Riders called me, anyway."
Olivia giggled. "That's a funny name."
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