The rope wasn't cruel. Rama noticed that first, hands bound loose enough at the wrist to let blood keep moving, the knot tied by someone who'd done this before and had no interest in doing it badly.
They walked for the better part of an hour, soldiers flanking rather than dragging, until the trees opened onto a cleared rise where a second, larger patrol had already made camp — a dozen more men, a picket line of horses, smoke rising from a cook-fire someone tended with the bored competence of routine. Their daughter had gone silent somewhere in the second half of the walk, exhaustion finally winning out over fear, her head drooping against Rama's shoulder despite everything her small body clearly still wanted to stay alert for.
They set the family down near the fire rather than at its edge. Rama noted that too.
