He personally dressed the long, shallow wound on her shoulder, a cut on her arm, and the small nicks on her long fingers. He shuddered when she said the humans’ dogs had attacked her. Flashes of his wife’s mutilated body rose before his eyes and he had to shut them tight. He crushed his daughter to his chest and thanked the Goddess she was whole, and beyond her scrapes, exhausted. The official pronouncement of her penalties, for disobeying orders, breaking the rules, causing so much trouble, could wait. She knew what they’d be, so did everyone else. No sense in telling everyone what they knew already. Those aboard the ship, however, were glad and relieved to have her back. H’renzek tucked her into her sleeping cubicle as if she still was a small child, and sat near, holding her hand. “I never told you how your mother died,” he said. “You never asked me.” Povre’s fingers tightened over his. “I wanted to,” she said. “But every time a chance came—” “I know,”
