There was a lot of water needed to prep the large communal meal, and also to clean it. She'd worked up a bit of a sweat, though it wasn't as hot here as it was at home. It felt good to be doing something with her hands (and back and shoulders and legs, really), so when workers came to offer a respite, she shooed them away with the same businesslike curtness that she'd chased away the first water pumper with. "No. I am doing this now. Go on." And the last one she shooed away came back with a cup for her to at least drink out of. She did, and heartily. But the Orosi woman stayed by her side for a moment and didn't immediately leave to go back inside. She made some small talk, but after a lull the woman said what was really on her mind.

"I've heard about you, you know." 
Ridahne stiffened but did not speak. She knew when she was being baited and she didn't feel like getting into a shouting match with this woman.
"I have a twin back home. She is a merchant and goes to Azurei often, so she hears a lot of news, and she passes the important things on to me in letters."
Alright, Ridahne couldn't take it. She did try to brush it off, but she just couldn't. Baited, maybe, but she was easily baited into an argument. It was part of who she was, unfortunately. She continued to pump the water, filling a large bucket that would be used for rinsing up after the meal. But her voice was cold. "What do  you want?"
"Not what you think, Guardian." The Orosi woman offered a smile, her bright teeth standing out against her dark skin. Ridahne had to admit, it was disarming. "I can only imagine how things are for you. But I have faith they will get better. And I know that's not much comfort to you now, but perhaps this is...my sister told me that she heard of you from a man at a tavern. She had heat sickness and he brought her inside, bought her a cool drink, and talked with her for a while about many things. But he told a story of how a fire had injured him badly a month before, and how his wife had tried desperately to make ends meet while he recovered."

Ridahne stopped pumping and stood stock still. She knew this story. The couple had a boy, she knew. "So she went to her Sol." 
The worker smiled. "So you have heard this story?" she said knowingly. "Yes. She did. And that night, the bells rung to mark the assassination of that Sol. The woman was afraid, but she thought if her own Sol could no longer help her, she would petition another. And she learned of the assassin, of the Hand who turned on her own Sol. She asked questions, and the Sota-Sol herself took her aside and explained that the woman's life had been in danger, and that after an investigation, they found that the assassin had saved her. And she and her entire family are in her debt."

Before Ridahne knew it or could stop it, there were tears on her face. She put a hand over her mouth. "Wh...what?"
The worker nodded. "They sing your praises, Guardian. And when they hear folk speak of the Assassin, they are quick to correct any false rumors." 
Ridahne could not speak. She never knew that the woman who's life she refused to take would ever hear about what really happened that day. She didn't think she'd understand. But she did. And somewhere out there, someone was glad for what she did. Not just grimly resolved that it was the right thing like herself, or like Ajoran and her brother Hadian. But someone actually was jubilantly thankful. It made a world of difference to her, more than she imagined. More than Ravi's words to her the day before. That was all that needed to be said between the two women; Ridahne couldn't speak anyway out of shock, so she abandoned her post at the water pump (there was plenty of water to use now anyway) and slipped off to her room to take a moment to process all that.

When Ridahne did come down to the main hall for the evening meal, she was still in her traditional garb instead of her traveling clothes, but she'd cleaned up again, combed her hair and braided it back, and washed her face and hands. And though there was still a measure of discomfort at being thrust into another extravagant feast, she radiated an almost regal pride. She sat beside Darin again with all the grace and dignity of a cat. 

"No quiet, humble meals for us, I see," she said in that dry humor of hers. "I have the feeling we'll miss it on the road though." She seemed in good spirits tonight, better than the night before for sure.