Celeste Grant had gone to the quarry once to see Jocelyn's mother. The workers there were all serious criminals, bound by shackles on their hands and feet.
Jocelyn's mother was dressed in coarse hemp, her eyes sunken and hair disheveled. Her former beauty was gone, leaving only a white-haired old crone. Her back was hunched as she bent to move stones into a basket. Because her age made her slow, she was often on the receiving end of the overseer's whip.
The overseer patrolled among the serious criminals, whip in hand. The moment he saw anyone slacking, he would lash out without hesitation.
Celeste Grant remained hidden in the shadows. In the short time she had been standing there, she had already seen Jocelyn's mother whipped to the ground twice.
"Work faster, you old hag."
"AAGH..."
