Ronan moved close enough to touch her shoulder with his. “Ain’Kalevi’s primary settlement,” he said in a low voice. “There are two others, just beyond that wood and to the west.”
Cynara knew from his tone and the sense of his mind that this was the place where he had grown up. Such a landscape would have seemed paradise for an adventurous child, if he had been among his own kind. For Ronan it had been hell. He should have hated the idea of going back, but he walked with a light step and raised head.
Nevertheless she reached for his hand and squeezed it briefly. He looked down at her with that profound warmth and ran his thumb along the hollow of her palm.
The path widened into a dirt and gravel road. Curious shaauri field hands paused to stare. Cynara noted that most of these shaauri had little in the way of black stripes, their fur more solidly red than that of the Kalevi escort.
Ronan searched every face, though he did not raise his hand. Some of the shaauri workers seemed to acknowledge him; others turned their backs in clear rejection. Cynara despised them for it.
A half-kilometer across the fields took them to the first of the settlement’s outbuildings, some kind of barn or byre for storage or the housing of animals. Many such buildings were scattered along the perimeter, and after another kilometer the party reached the garden bordering the central village.
Now Cynara could make out the heavy wooden walls, pitched roofs, and downswept eaves of the individual, single-story buildings. Some of the doors and walls were carved with geometric or spiral designs. The gardens were still dormant from winter, but obviously well tended. Shaauri workers moved among the buildings with calm purpose, differing only in the cut of garment and striping of fur. Like the field hands, many of these turned away from Ronan, and several made gestures of obvious hostility.
Cynara soon became lost in the twistings and turnings of the paths and gardens. Samit finally brought the group to a halt before a plain one-story structure. Two Kalevi guards herded Ronan and Cynara into the building and shut the door.
The interior was somewhat warmer than the outside air, though not quite comfortable by the criteria of furless humans. There were no partitions in the single room, only a series of beds with wooden box frames, toilet facilities at one end, and a simple table and chairs in the center. The windows were shuttered against the elements.
“Well,” Cynara said, “we’ve survived so far.” She steered Ronan to the nearest bed. “You did say you have friends here, didn’t you? Most of the Kalevi seem to hold you in considerable dislike.”
“Did I not tell you that Kalevi—”
“Hate humans. And you were lucky enough to be stuck with them.”
“Do not be so hasty in judgment,” he chided, wincing as he eased onto the bed. “There is much you have not seen.”
“I hope I get the chance.” With gentle fingers she tilted back his head and examined his lip. “These wounds need tending, and your broken fingers have to be set. Where is this healer of yours?”
“The Second will send him.” He met her eyes. “Once again you did well, Cynara.”
“As I remember it, you did everything and I watched.” She pulled the torn edges of his shipsuit away from a particularly nasty cut. “I don’t know why you haven’t bled more than this.”
“I stopped the bleeding.”
She rocked away from him. “That was useful.”
“Yes.”
“You also stopped the pain, I suppose, as Sihvaaro taught you.”
He cocked his head at her. “It hurts, but I can bear it.”
Oh, yes. “You need to lie down until the healer arrives.” She pushed him gently back on the cot. “This is where you lived as a child?”
“No. Wrongdoers are kept here, though there are seldom many at a time.”
“Shaauri wrongdoers. I’d like to see more of those.”
“I doubt it.”
“Humor, Ronan?”
“We have, as you said, survived. I will have my time to address the va’laik’i, and Sihvaaro will also be permitted to speak.”