He let go of her hand and somehow her own felt cold without it. As Uriens and Morgaine took their seats and Morgaine signalled to the servants to bring food, Maline's younger child began to clamor and shout. A few years back, some craftsman had wrought in gold paint and crimson the name of every Companion over his customary chair. When she had done he pulled her down, held her down on the dirty straw, pushing her legs open with a rough hand.
Let him try. Nay, but I put small faith in dreams and visions, youngster. Uriens said fussily, It is your part, my dear, to give out these things to the dancers who have entertained us this day. Morgaine smiled, almost against her will.
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