She began to weep like an abandoned child that knows no one is coming to its rescue, but cries all the same because it is hurt and frightened. Were he not so sick inside at what he'd done, Anest too would have like to weep. Yet somewhere in the background of his thoughts he felt a danger like the beating of dark wings. A danger for which he had no name.
Without realising why he did so, he muttered, "Help her. Somebody . . . please . . ."
And there was a response.
"Anest." It was Belloc, who had just returned.
Belloc's features betrayed that he'd been informed about what had happened, yet Anest noted that although the wizard's features were set, they were not angry.
"Belloc! Please . . . help her."
The wizard gazed upon the girl with undisguised pity for a long moment, then moved woodenly to a stone bench nearby and seated himself. Like a guilty teenager who has committed an unintended act of murder, Anest came to stand before the old wizard.
"Belloc, please!"
With a glance at Anest, as though what he had to say made him uncomfortable, Belloc reached into his cloak for his pipe. Lighting it, he bade his apprentice sit down beside him.