Malia lets out a terrified gasp when the visions finally fade.   As she slowly regains control of her body, she lets out a soft wince, her knuckles having gone white from the vice grip she kept on the dagger, having tried to move it the entire time.  Feeling like her fingers are fused to the hilt, she lowers her blade to her side and tries to loosen her grip, body still trembling in fear from the visions.    She stares, unblinking and still on the verge of tears at the acolyte, the woman's words only barely piercing her thoughts with Malia's heartbeat still pounding in her own ears.<br/><br/><em>A new judgement?  Conscription-?</em><br/><br/>As much as she doesn't trust anything spoken from inside a cow's skull, she can't escape the fact that this means two important things: the guards aren't trying to pummel her and the executioners aren't trying to kill her.   It's going to have to be enough.<br/><br/>Being handed a cloak is almost bewildering.  She hasn't had someone show concern for her modesty in years.  Her eyes trace silently to the man as her trembling hand tugs the cloak tighter around her body and she strides to the wagon as directed.  The further she can get away from this scene the better.<br/><br/><strong>"Did that really just happen?"</strong>