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The sun splashed over the morning grass, clearer than it had been for the last two days. Its fingers found you still under the same tree you had sat against last night. You never made it into the <span class="mu-i">pèstal</span>. Instead you spent the night aground, coiling your thoughts in every dimension as to what you should do come morning. Well, morning it was, and you saw no other way now. Not with the time you had left and how little you knew. It had to be Bernat.
A trip back to your tent and a circuit around the <span class="mu-i">pèstal</span> saw you head back to the <span class="mu-i">Mila</span> with six strong men. A Sonziz stood at the bottom of the thoroughfare’s branch up to the great house on the hill. He was staring up at the son, his golden eyes not quite glowing, but uncomfortably visible even through the white veil. You walked over to him and he turned to face you, every kind of contempt written over every movement of his head and limbs. He stared at you, his gaze travelling back to the men behind you. Every human was used to that look, you paid it less heed than most.
“Tell the Ispariz I will come to him shortly.”
You had known a few Sonziz who didn’t mind speaking to a human, but for the most part they all gave you the same laconic stare, and the same clenching of the hands. This one must have been happy to see the sun, as you only had to submit to a curt scoff before he turned on his heel to head up to the house. You began walking away before he finished turning, you could not be denied from your purpose here today.
Soon enough you were at the potter’s house, set as it was to the side of his shop and in front of his workshop. You pounded twice on the door. You set yourself to do it again when it opened to a round face full of alarm. The potter’s wife. Confused, she took you in, and made her sign while her eyes slipped with mounting worry over each of the men behind you.
“Good morning, <span class="mu-i">Dormidor</span>. Can I help you?”
“I need to speak to your son, <span class="mu-i">maire</span>.”
She went pale, all civility washed from her face by a river of fear.
“Why?” She asked, hands clutching at her shawl.
“May I come in?”
“No!” She snapped. She could not stop looking at the men behind you.
“Mother?” Bernat’s voice came from the room behind, concerned and wary.
“No! Go back! No!” She addressed the first to him, the second to you. You ignored her.
“Bernat. Come to me.” You barked a command from the doorway and he sidled into view, already shaking.
“He had nothing to do with anything! He’s a good son! A good boy!” She was angry, but it was already turning desperate, you could hear the peaks of her voice rising too high, her lips trembling to make the words.
“<span class="mu-i">Dormidor</span>?” Bernats’ own voice was very small. A couple passers-by had stopped at the sound.
