“We don’t have time for this,” Wosut said, gently grasping Ponill’s shoulder and attempting to surreptitiously redirect her back to the reading room, and her studies.
With a tiny shrug, she removed herself from her teacher’s grasp and continued staring out the window, across the fresh-shorn, peaceful lawn, to the unrest beyond the castle walls. Women, men, children and castle guards, taunting that turned to yelling which turned to throwing things, which ended with a knight’s dagger protruding from the blacksmith’s head, and said knight on fire, burning a live in his armor. “No. I think I should see this.”