Rahab—for it was indeed Rahab, wearing the simple linen dress that Sara had loaned her, her pale face flushed with exertion—picked up the horn instrument that Deva had gifted her with such hopeful enthusiasm, specifically for the purpose of sexually arousing Benjamin with its "melodic" tones.
She straightened slowly, turning to face the small girl who was still standing near Benjamin's bloodied form.
And Rahab's expression shifted.
"Ah," she said, her voice soft and almost bemused. "Well, well. If it isn't my little Nyx."
She began walking toward them, her bare feet padding softly across the torn earth.
"What are you doing all the way out here, attacking my master?"
Behind her, Deva followed—her own face a portrait of utter bewilderment, her eyes darting between Rahab, the girl, and the bloodied Benjamin with an expression that asked every question her lips could not form.
