The voice hit the clearing like a thrown knife.
Everyone near the fire — the soldiers eating, the men talking, the two commoners who had been arguing about the quality of the common pot — went still. The particular, electric, full-body stillness of people who had just heard something they were not supposed to hear.
Viktor turned.
The first company commander stood at the base of a large oak.
The same woman from the morning — the bull-kin captain, the one with the amber eyes and the strip-of-cloth bra and the hanging fabric that barely covered her pussy. She stood with one hand on her hip, the other resting casually against the trunk of the tree, her posture relaxed, her expression amused, her massive, barely-contained tits shifting with each breath.
She was smiling.
The slow, satisfied, cat-with-a-canary smile of a woman who had been watching and had seen everything.
"I had my doubt on you," she said.
Her eyes moved to Dara.
