Philippa feels all her 250 years of age (sorceresses are living well beyond the age of normal folks and regular infusions with mandrake roots are keeping them young and attractive) and feels envious about the spry Cirilla.
Yen, on a spoke behind, is thinking about the oddities of the chain of events that turned her from a pampered high maintenance member of the Court of King Foltest into a naked slave in Ophir's desert. How many things got to go wrong for that to happen, she meditates.
Triss on the other hand is numb with fear. Last night she witnessed how the guards are treating slaves who were slow of feet during the day. Ten strikes with a rod on the tied soles and she feels she's among the slowest on the wheel. Judging by the screams of the victims last night, it must be very painful.