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also, explaining it was better to be cold than to drown. Then they crouched down, huddling together, the innermost men, who would be warmed by the bodies of their companions, contributing their cloaks to make double and triple layers on the outermost men and as a covering for the whole group. Simon walked slowly forward, suppressing a sensation of envy for the warmth and companionship they had. He made his way along the raised walk that bounded the cargo area, glancing down at the sweating, neighing, terrified horses. They were shackled so that they could not kick each other, but little more could be done for them. |
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The ship rose and fell in the easy swell. Simon staggered a little and moved more quickly. He was not prone to sickness from the sea, but he was no sailor either and he wished to be out of the way of the men who would soon have to raise the sail and fasten the lines. There was a small cleared area in front of the women's tent, and here Simon stopped. He had been considering sheltering himself from the wind inside the tent. He considered it no longer. Above the noise the horses were making, he could hear the sobs and prayers from inside. It was one thing to be brave on terra firma. It was quite another to maintain one's composure when one's footing rose and fell and tipped from side to side. There was an ear-splitting shriek followed by a slap almost as loud. Simon grinned even as he swallowed tears. That was undoubtedly Alinor. He hoped it was one of the maids she had slapped and not one of the ladies, but he feared from the outraged cries he was now hearing that his hope was in vain. |
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The case was proved a few moments later. Simon had just laid his shield down in a safe corner when Alinor erupted from the cabin. "God," she spat at Simon, not seeing who he was in her rage but knowing from his garments that she was not speaking to a commoner, "helps those who help themselves. I have done all I can. I hope they tear each other to bits." |
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