Babies wailed, and stiff-haired dogs linked, tails between their legs, beneath the wagons. One wagon lay on its side over a smoldering campfire, the flames now beaten to blackened wood and smoking embers. A sign in big red letters had been hastily nailed to the side, saying gypsies are devils and must perish.
"What do you mean? That if I am a gypsy and I was raped in front of you by these filthy villagers, you won't lift a finger to help me?"
Something in Royce's expression told her that he wouldn't.
"Damn you all! You called yourself one of them, but you were afraid to help them. Why? Because this world perceived them as the lowest form of creature?"
Royce ignored her and walked straight to old Kavin, who stood wringing his hands, looking haggard and far older than he had just hours ago.
