Read Traitor, Book 1 of The Turner Chronicles Page 76
Chapter 33
And then he was alone.
Most likely, Kit was raging right this moment because he had transferred her back to the manor without asking her first. She thought that since she had loved Sarah and Ernest that part of this task was her duty. She wanted to feel her knife sink into Beech's guts.
Unfortunately for Kit's temper, there were dreams a person just had to live without. Aaron would not risk Kit's life. Though he felt little inside, she was still the mother of his children.
During the next hour Aaron gradually crept closer to the noise. Finally, he saw a small village of shelters created from hide covered frames, some of which were still being constructed, telling Aaron that this group of savages had not been here long. They were transients, nomads traveling their range.
Crouching low, Aaron carefully arranged weeds so he would be harder to spot. When the waving, seed-bearing tuft of one weed bushed against his nose, it took everything he had not to sneeze.
"Bifore ne veloracsage. Gecace. Gecase."
The voices of half a dozen children came to him. They ran around, playing tag or some other game he did not understand, being sure all the while to keep a watchful eye on the horses. Many women and a few men worked around the camp. Some scraped hides, while a few others ground meal. Amid all this activity one dedicated crew of about sixteen women and two men raised shelters. Sitting on top of a large, central fire was a copper pot, steam rolling from its top, throwing the smell of fresh stew into the air.
"Mi necra wordont orgesnal ob ver das. Gersace."
"Bo dervan pealize ver ob der ober versalen."
Sunset was two hours away when Aaron finally saw Beech leave a shelter and stride among the natives like he was their king. Four men and women, dark faces covered with ritual scars, all dressed in heavy leathers, trailed him. Peering through the weeds, Aaron could see that something swung at their sides, but he could not make out what it was. He shifted awkwardly, cursed reluctant muscles, and pulled out his binoculars.
Beech's guards had bows slung over their shoulders, crude axes at their belts, and long knives of copper strapped to their legs. Aaron watched as they walked arrogantly toward the largest tent. Just off to the side of that shelter sat a woodpile, only four feet from the door. With the binoculars Aaron could see that there was a small space between the wood and one of the hide walls. After studying the area for a short while he decided that it was the best place he could find in a poor situation.