“Dead,” the older resident said.
Sera knew that word. She had heard a related form at the coast, and the way the people behind the speaker went still left little room for a harmless mistake. The resident pointed to the weapon at Sera’s hip, then back up the stair.
“Come. Take dead?”
“No,” Sera said.
The answer was too quick. The man with the hooked tool moved forward, demanding something in a rush of words she could not follow. Another voice called from the walking path. Sera could hear the word again, repeated and sharpened by the people gathering behind the first line.
She lowered the weapon carefully.
It remained secured in its scabbard. She eased the outer strap down until the hilt no longer sat beside her hand and let the whole thing rest against the stone on her side of the boundary. She did not push it across or offer the handle to somebody who had not asked to take it. Then she raised her empty hands again.
“No taking,” she said slowly. “Injured. Up there.”
