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They had expected tears. They had expected the darkness. They had expected rage and anger.
Laun had felt better after being given clear water and having the blood washed from her into the sand outside their yurlodge. She sat, the Peaches brushing her hair and cleaning what they had missed outside. She had asked for several of their medicines, and for cold cloths for her twisted knee. Other than that, Laun had not said anything or done anything.
It was eerie and concerning her people.
Laun was grieving. Not just for Ulis. For the assassin she had just killed. For Wanda’s innocence. For Rosemond and Iffy. For her people. For her children.
Laun was convinced that the attempts on Ifahyd would not be as bad, or numerous, if she had not been there. Yes, they would have happened, but not like this. Not this close. Not taking out innocent people.
Laun smiled at her men when Daffyd and Gregg offered themselves. She shook her head and went back to just looking at her hands. Her hands. The ones that had taken so many lives and had trained others to take lives. The hands that had just held one of hers as she died. The hand that held the blade to his throat as he chose to die.