Book Description"The witch," the crowd murmured, as they parted before me.
Dirty unwashed humans. I wrinkled my nose and pressed my sleeping harling closer to my chest. I loathed bringing my son into the presence of the filthy things, but when duty is concerned Zen sets aside all else. Even family. We had arrived three months ago in this overcrowded refugee camp on the high plains of northern Megalithica, after Tigron Pellaz-har-Aralis, lord of the powerful region of Almagabra, had chosen my chesnari to be his ambassador to the savages. Zen had taken to the task with an enthusiasm that I didn"t understand. When I"d dropped our son"s pearl, Zen had shown an appropriate amount of excitement. But as the harling continued to develop within the protective membrane, Zen had found a hundred excuses to be elsewhere which, I"m sure, in his eyes he considered quite legitimate.
The familiar pattern of Zen"s thoughts brushed away my irritation. The crowd opened, and I saw him mediating a dispute between two loud humans. He sat with his chin in his hand. His long white hair spilled over his shoulder into his lap. His red tunic was spotted with fresh ink stains. He scratched his nose idly. When his aide Rika nudged his shoulder, Zen looked up and saw me. Hissmile warmed my thoughts.
I moved forward. The dimwitted human closest to me sputtered nonsense as I passed. He feared me. They all did. With good reason. My first week in the camp, I had caught a thief in my tent and hung his disemboweled body in front of my home for three days to serve as a warning to others. If I had to keep Zen"s household and raise our harling here, I refused to sacrifice my family"s safety. Это и многое другое вы найдете в книге Storm Constantine's Wraeththu Mythos 'Terzah's Sons' (Wraeththu Mythos S.) (Victoria Copus)