One of the prisoners, a fifteen year old girl named Merri, had been drafted to serve the guards. A stick-thin waif of a girl, some officer obviously thought she was harmless enough that she could be trusted to serve out bowls of meat stew, scrub the dishes after, and clean out the latrines once a day under supervision.

When they'd first shown Merri the celemar she had refused outright to have anything to do with slipping it into the guards' food. A brown knob of root the size and colour of a large mushroom, the celemar looked far from appetising, and Merri said she had no involvement with the preparation of the food anyway.

After the conspirators gave it some thought, Amber was tasked with obtaining a canister of salt. This time she used a man's typical reluctance to think too hard about anything womanly. Amber told the guard that she needed salt to mix with water to prevent infection. What infection? The guard asked. Amber had simply looked down. Embarrassed, the guard had lived up to expectations and soon he'd provided her with a canister of salt from his meal table, fear of Moragon written across his face.

The three women then spent hours with stones, grinding up the celemar until it was a fine, light-brown powder. Amber and Lina remembered to wash their hands afterwards, but Samora forgot, and even now she was still sick in her bowels.

They poured the celemar powder into the salt canister, mixing it with actual salt, and regarded their handiwork. The colour was definitely off; would the guards notice?

Merri finally agreed to the plan. She would smuggle the canister in with her, and place it on the bench next to the steaming pot of stew she served the soldiers. Many would automatically season their monotonous fare, and if the chance came, Merri herself would try to sneak some of the powder into the pot.

"How long until sunset?" Samora asked.

"Less than an hour, I make it," Lina said, the tall Halrana woman frowning and looking up at the sun. "It gets dark late this time of year."

"The guards are going to wonder why some of the bowls are missing. They'll notice some prisoners aren't returning with their bowls," Amber said worriedly.

"No they won't," Lina said. "The guards will just count their blessings that mealtime has finished early today."

"Look." Samora nudged Amber.

Merri was returning to the camp. In her hands the thin girl held a tray, and from where they sat the three women could see steam rising from the tray.

With a shaky smile on her lips, Merri took the tray to a pair of guards, who greedily took a plate each. Merri then moved on to some more guards, a soldier pinching her on the rear as she departed, causing her to squeal.