"Poor child," Qebhet murmured. "How old was he?" Old enough to understand the gravity and brutality of the act, she thought; young enough that his heart hadn't hardened to it. Gentle enough of soul, still, to want to make amends, even if all he had to offer was a bit of food for a dead woman's dog. Silently, Qebhet was glad Hecate had seen fit to spare the boy. Such a child needed every scrap of fortune he could grasp onto.