For two days after the girl surrendered, there had been nothing for Shava Konte to do but help her husband slowly repair the trampled furrows and plant the field. It was a task made easier by the girl's labors, and yet, if their sons still lived, it was one she and Asa should not have had to do at all.
On the cold morning of the tribunal, knowing it would take more time for their older bones to walk the long road into town, the couple left before dawn to reach the village council hall.
"They know she is Noxian."
"You worry too much," Shava said, clucking her tongue for good measure. Realizing her tone was more fit for calming chickens than her husband, she gave him a hopeful smile.
"Noxian. That is all they need to proclaim guilt." Asa mumbled his thought into the homespun wool wrapped around his neck.
Shava, who had spent the better part of her lifetime coaxing stubborn animals into the butcher's pen, stopped short, turning to face her husband.
"They do not know her like we know her," she said, stabbing one of her fingers to his chest, exasperation escaping through her hands. "That is why you are to speak on her behalf, you old goat."
Asa knew his wife, and knew further argument would not change her mind. Instead he nodded his head softly. Shava gave a dissatisfied harumph and turned back to the road, marching in silence to the town center. The council hall that was beginning to fill. Seeing the crowd, she hurried into the narrow space between the benches of the council hall to find a seat closer to the front... and unceremoniously tripped over a sleeping man's leg.
As the old woman fell forward with a weak yelp, a groan escaped from the sleeping man. Like a lightning blade, his hand snapped forward, his grip like steel, catching the old woman by the arm before she fell to the stone floor.
"You must watch your step, O-ma," the stranger whispered deferentially, drink still heavy on his breath, but slurring none of his words. He withdrew his hand as soon as the old woman was back on her feet.
The old woman looked down her nose at the unlikely savior, her eyes narrowing. Under her scrutiny, the man receded further into the shadows of the mantle wrapped around his shoulders and face; the ghost of a scar across his strong nose disappeared into the darkness.
"The council hall is nowhere to recover from a night of misdeeds, young man." Shava righted her robes, the disdain evident in the tip of her chin. "A woman's life is to be decided today. Be gone before you are asked to concede your own wrongdoings before the magistrates."
"Shava." The old man had caught up and put a hand on his wife's arm. "You must keep your temper in check if we are to offer our assistance today. He meant no injury. Leave him be."
The hooded stranger offered two fingers up in peaceful supplication, but kept his face hidden. "You strike to the heart of the matter, O-ma," he offered, humor creeping into his voice.
Shava moved on, carrying her indignation like a delicate gift. The old man tipped his head as he passed.