>>6242734“Skewering a beaten enemy is not honourable.”
“Suffering a monster to live is foolish,” she replies holding up a finger.
“Is this still part of your— of what you are trying to— I’m <span class="mu-i">not</span> in league with the Adversary.”
“Mmhhh, perhaps you are not, Argia Candente,” she agrees. “But then explain why the tangled web of fate is wrapped all around you.”
“It is not up to me to explain the Will of Ansàrra.” You sneer. “Especially to someone supposedly so close to Her.”
“Ohhh—” she hisses, seemingly delighted, her finger letting go of your cameo to reach up to your chin. “I may be a serpent, but you are the one with the forked tongue.” She cackles, turning back. “Let us make haste, as you said.”
She walks away, her feet never touching the ground.
As you follow her towards the main camp, you notice how she looks at the Ubaiidi corpses with a strange expression, something that makes you think of regret and loss than disdain.
“Did you meet them before?”
“Did I. We fought many wars. Some were honourable, as you mentioned. Some were necessary. Some were— how do I put it without hurting your sensibility, Argia Candente?” She clicks her tongue. “Cleansing.”
You startle.
“I… I see.”
“Nay,” she shakes her head. “You live in a blessed age of peace, you do not. And yet, there was a time when the Ubaiidi tribes still used to be capable of thought. Given to them by their former Kiengir masters or not, it does not matter. Back then we fought warriors. Tonight you slaughtered animals.”
When you come back to the main camp, Soralisa has gathered all the survivors in one spot. Another man, an old one without hands, has joined the group.
“Now sit on the grass,” Rosandra commands. In awe, all the stricken survivors obey. She waves her hand and their wounds clean, their limbs crack back into their proper place. The survivors look at themselves, at each other, shaken — some fall to the ground and reach for her feet, to praise her, worship her.
[cont.]
