The atmosphere was breathless!
No one moved and no one spoke. Even the crackling of the bonfire seemed muted, as if the flames themselves had paused to witness what had just occurred.
The imprisoned women stared with expressions that mixed horror and awe. Their tormentor was dead, his head lying separate from his body, and the one who had killed him stood with a spear still piercing his chest as if it were merely an inconvenience.
The Chieftain and the two Warriors looked on with disbelief painted across their ruined faces. Ayala's one functional eye blinked repeatedly, as if trying to clear a hallucination that refused to fade.
Only Grandmother Essun remained calm.
She continued tending to the disbelieving Chieftain and the two others, her gnarled fingers working the Bloodmoss Paste into wounds with practiced efficiency.
As for Damian...
He reached up and grasped the shaft of the spear protruding from his chest.
