She knew he spoke of himself and as he began to talk of what she should see, she did indeed put her circle to her eye and looked at him through it. He was there, as was a sigil on his chest, a halo of light around it. She gasped, but kept on watching him, listening to him. What else could she do?
At his mention of her mark, she shook her head. "I would know if I had a mark," she said calmly, but her heart thundered in her ears. "If I had this.. this.. banarkin, I would know. I would have seen it."
It was not a promise of anything but home that she heard, however, and she shook her head. She did not want to learn anything. Her strongest instinct was that she knew all she had to. She knew how to plant, she knew how to plow, to make candles, to feed herself, to care for her husband.
To go unseen.
She shook. "I won't say anything about you to them," she promised. "It doesn't matter how you did it. You saved us all." And now he would save her, as he promised. She'd learned already, in the short time she'd been near him, that his word was as good as a bond. He would not break it if there was breath left in his body.