Frozen

Another dawn rises, and I stirred from his side. I wonder if he can feel how often it is that I watch him while he sleeps. His warmth provides a greater comfort to my senses that I ever thought possible, yet it draws from me too, an ache. An ache that rekindles itself with each passing ehn.

I do not pretend to fool myself. I know he watches me at times. I know how his hand rests upon my body when I am beside him. I know what I want to believe is the source of these things, but I will not lie to myself and allow myself to believe there is more to it than what it is. I may be naive of flesh, but not naive of mind. While owned by others, interest was constant. Even if I managed to smooth talk my way out of those situitions, save one, I knew all too well what was on a man's mind when he looked at me. This man, the one I lie beside, has not even shown an interest in something as simple as a kiss. I should be grateful, since it keeps me from having to manuever my way out of a position that I am not sure I am ready for. But another part of me has to ask. Why? Something a chain sister told me once long ago comes to mind. "Be careful what you ask for." It is a natural thing, that I want to draw his attention and keep his eye. It's even more natural that I feel these things inside of me given my bloodline. I fear. Fear for when and if that time will come. Fear even more that it won't come at all.

My bloodline. He calls me worthless. And pink. Pink never was one of my favored colors, but if the insult was not so evident, I may find it amusing. Worthless. I cannot tell him. I was the exception given that I was cross trained. A domesticated bred slave who could not only perform for men, but could do all the tasks of a domesticated slave. A higher profit, had the original inquiry come forth afterwards to make good on the purchase. Most of my kind are taken and used again and again, until the ways of men and pleasure are second nature. Stimulation as much a part of the training as the repeatitive chants before the mirror. Why a woman would wish to purchase such a slave, I never understood. A gift for her companion perhaps, or maybe to provide a distraction to any guests while being able to maintain the positon of handmaid to her. I stopped trying to figure out the mind of the free a long time ago. They make no sense to me on most levels. Their lives are so difficult in comparison to my own. I know its a matter of time, if he keeps me that long, before he gains at least a hint of who I am. The mark on my heel speaks enough, yet if he has seen it, he has not asked. In many ways, too, what I fear is if he does decide that time will come, will I be like others of my kind? In a constant state of yearning and needing of his touch? It's already a main distraction, but would it get worse? Could it?

The other slaves here, they shun me. I am an oddity I suppose to them. I have at least learned the man's name that owns me. Fonce. I heard the name called the day of the raid, but with so much going on, it wasn't given much thought as to who it belonged to. Fonce. Somehow, it fits him. None of the girls have offered any help, advice, or direction on the things I must learn. In fact, they seem to go the other way if I am around. Just as well. I've never been one of those touchy feely, sisterly types anyhow. Very few have earned the title of friend with me, and even fewer would I consider "sister". Rather than try to force myself on them, I observe. Watch how they do things, where they go to do their tasks, and once the path is clear, I try it myself. There is a spice one added to some food she was cooking that had a near hypnotic aroma throughout the whole camp. I wanted to ask her what it was, but when I offered a smile her direction, she simply turned her head and continued talking with the slave beside her. I don't blame them, I suppose. I was never easy on the new slaves either, and I am sure they dislike my being here given I am so different. I'm guessing that their dislike of me stems too, from who owns me, given it seems I am the only slave he does own. I cannot say it is jealousy, but I am sure there is more than a little resentment. In their position, I'd likely be the same way.

He gifted me with a few things. I am grateful for them, yet I question if I have earned such a reward. The boots, I have trouble walking in. I am used to the freedom of sandals and being able to wiggle my toes, but given the brisk chill of the weather here, without the buildings and bridges to brace against the winds, the boots are a generous gift, lest my toes would cease to be! The slave livery he allowed is nice, and so different than the silks of before. Silks are nice in the cling, but these have their own appeal. The vest especially I like. I had to laugh a little when he allowed the hat, with its little ear warmers. I had not seen one of those since I was a child. But, like my toes, my ears are most thankful of his care.

I've come to realize in my short time here things I would have never noticed before. How ice glistens on the budded branches of trees, or how tranquil it is after a virgin blanket of snow has covered everything. It's almost like you can hear whispers on the wind itself. No buzzing of conversations spilling from the paga dens, no loud bickering over some drunken game of cups. Every so often, I hear the blissful moans from a slave being used in one of the wagons, or the laughter of the free coming from the larger fire. Yet everything is so peaceful here.

As each day passes, I find myself missing the ways of city life less and less, and growing more attached and comfortable in my place here. I may not yet be accepted. I may not ever be. He can think of me as worthless. I may not have all the pretty frills and fluff, nor the cosmetics, or oils that once fed my vanity. My skin may not be as soft and now bears the signs of labor. I look at my reflection in the waters, and I see the changes in myself. The woman I once saw seems to be fading little by little, and blooming into another person. A person that is of his own creation, even if he does not realize it or not. He is making me a better person; a better slave. He is teaching me lessons that I had never considered before, much less knew existed.

For all of these things, I owe it to him to show him what he has given me. I owe him so much.

Quote

I'll be a park, and thou shalt be my deer; Feed where thou wilt, on mountains or in dale; Graze on my lips, and if those hills be dry, stray lower, where the pleasant fountains lie.
-W.S. 1593-

Easier

I wish I could say that it is getting easier, growing accustomed to this new life. It is, slowly, but it's taking time. I have had to learn where the best places are to find the bosk chips, learn what food I am allowed to cook and what is to be stored. I once complained, if only to myself, of the amount of dishes and dusting I had to do. I'm finding that the chores I have now are much greater, but too, they serve a greater purpose. Before, while the chores were necessary, it was more for show. Dust free house, pressed clothing, flowers in vases, plenty of goodies cooked, along with various beverages available. Floors scrubbed to a beautiful shine. For what? The comfort of living in a nice house but also as a way of showing off for guests who would come.

For my Master, and his people, it seems different. These chores are not just a necessity but is key to survival. Master doesn't seem to care if his clothes are seamed just so, or even if there is a spot on them that cannot be scrubbed out. As long as they are warm and clean, he seems content enough. If his wagon is neat and not tracked by water or mud, he seems pleased. I have yet to pick a full basket of bosk dung, yet he has not forced me to sleep outside yet. I spent ahns each day, seeming a little more time as of late, gathering what I can find to bring back to his camp. I make sure the botas are filled, each day and each night. I've taken to airing out his furs on the warmer days so he is met with a more fresh smelling bed once he is ready to settle that night. I wanted to arrange a few bowls with flowers for his wagon, but given how it seems that the people are here about the land, I am hesitant to pick any living thing that would not provide substance or use beyond just flash.

I've also started going thru his clothing, and taking a piece at a time in mending. Some no more than a small nick here or there, but at least with what I learned of sewing, I am able to make it look as good as new again. I wonder if he will notice? I've been gathering bits and pieces of fabrics I have found, and have started working on two projects. One, I am sewing a quilt for him, to place over his furs. Only the softest and most colorful swatches will be used for that, since I have noticed he seems to like colors. The other, I am more cautious of. I have had to be sneaky and use my arm to measure, along with the jacket that he often wears, but I'm trying to put together a new one for him. I really need leather rather than fabrics, but I don't know how to ask him without giving it away. I really want to surprise him. I thought maybe if I saw the other Master, Ogedaii, I could ask him how I can do this without alerting my Master. Of course, its a risk, but if its kept a secret, perhaps I will have found a way to please him after all. For now, I have all of this in a basket, stored in the back of the wagon. I'm hoping he doesn't look there any time soon. It's hard to do this between chores, but I've been taking it with me, hiding it in the smaller basket I usually use to pick berries in, should I be so lucky to find any, and when taking a rest, work on it then. Or early in the morning while preparing his meal while he sleeps. Any stolen moment I can take to myself, I work on these things. The quilt will take at least another two hands. The jacket maybe longer unless I can find some leather I can use. I have yet to admit to him that I know a little of making things with leather, so maybe there'll be more surprises than just the two when its done.

That dream has weighed so heavily on my mind. It really shook something inside of me. To an extent, I feel silly. Every slave dreams of that special man, for it is said a girl knows when she meets her true Master. Its a notion we grow up with, prattling about it during training and dreaming aloud with our friends. Its a notion I had never quite believed. A slave is nothing more than a beast. Bought and sold. A slave may have fifty owners in her lifetime if she has no serums. If she does, then she may have a hundred. One hand to another. Nothing is ever secure. One of the greatest reasons why I have never allowed myself to fully open. I couldn't possibly believe that a man would care what a beast thinks, dreams of or wants. What does it matter to him? By his questions alone that first night, he has indicated something very different to me than what I have led myself to believe. Perhaps it was just so he knew if I'd be worth a profit. Perhaps he truly was interested in what he now owns.

What that dream did make me realize is that it doesn't matter what I think or feel. I owe him this much. I owe him the right to know his slave as fully or as less as he chooses to. I know beyond any shadow of doubt that had that dream been real, and I was back in Port Kar, I would have been devastated. No man has ever made me ache and want as he does. No man has ever made me want to open myself and express all the things I have held so protectively inside. It has been too easy all of my life to put on a smile, sway the hips and wear the face expected of me, determined by who I was around. This man, I feel, sees right thru that. Or maybe I am hoping he does. I don't want to put on any faces for him other than what is the true me.

I want to be his. I want to remain his. I want my life dedicated to seeing to his pleasure and becoming worth something to him far more than a mere coin or bit of gold. I want him to want me with the same ache that I feel. I want to see him look at me and with that very look, have it tell me.. "mine".

There is such peace found when I am next to him at night, brushing his temples or my nails lightly along his back while he sleeps. A scribe once told me that you can see a person's true face when they sleep. I do see his face. I see his eyes, even though they are closed. I must wonder if he felt the teardrops that rolled to his arm the night after I had that dream. He has no idea how thankful I am and was to be at his side that night. Every night. Or at least until I fail the task of the bosk chip hunt...

My body is sore, as the work is much tougher. My hands are blistered, despite the gloves he gave me to wear. Barely at times can I keep my eyes open, given the ahns I put into what must be done. But I cannot say that I have ever been happier. He may call me Worthless Pink, but one day, my Master, I'll be anything but worthless to you.

Dreaming

The crackle of fire soothed my mind, as did the sounds of the cold nights breeze whispering. In the midst of being so close to sleep, I could hear the movement of people in the distance. Comforting as it was, yet I was unsure if it was my Master or not. He had not returned to his wagon, so I stretched out by the cooking fire, wrapped in a fur and took a little time to rest. I wanted to wait for him to return, so perhaps we could talk more. Or something.

Something stirred me and I opened my eyes and sat up some, to see what it was that had woke me up. To my surprise, I was looking at a pair of slippers. Looking up more, I noticed Therise. And Spider, and Naz. Sekret was there, too. I asked Therise how I got there, and she laughed and asked me if I was feeling well. That maybe I had spent too much time with Spider in his den, testing the paga shots. I felt myself stiffen. Why was I there? Naz was talking to Sek, and Spider was looking at me as he always did- like a piece of meat that he was ready to devour. He always had this thing for my mouth. She told me I needed a bath, and shoo'd me off to go bathe. Told me to get those circles under my eyes taken care of and for Kings sake, eat something. And bring her truffles! I did as she commanded, bringing her the truffles. Had it all been a dream? As I sank into the tub of hot water, with all its added oils, all I could think of was his face. Was he just a figment of my dreams? I could feel the tremble move over my body, and the way my flesh instantly responded when I thought of his hand on me. It just didn't seem real that I could make up such a thing in my mind, much less play it out in my dreams!

I dressed as she liked me to dress, to catch the eyes of the men. It kept the attention off her so she could do what she needed to do. I knelt at her feet and started telling her the whole story. The raid, the ride, even the name he had called me. She laughed at me, and said if I was worthless, a coinbox could remedy that quickly enough. I had always been able to talk to her, and she always took interest in the things I said. But this time, she looked at me as though I had lost my mind. Finally I blurted out, begging her to take me back. "Back where, girl? You haven't been anywhere". I hadn't? So it really was all a dream? I couldn't help it. The tears welled up before I could stop them. This couldn't be happening. I should have been happy, to be back in Port Kar, and back around the people I knew so well. With a motion of hand, she spoke. "For Kings sake, Sage. Take this girl and get her head back on straight. Really, Si.. a Tuchuk? You'd not survive a hand with a man like that" Motioning toward the doors of the alcoves while she spoke. I wanted to protest. I wanted to cry.

I did as I was bid, and followed the heeling gesture of Sage toward the alcove. He made himself comfortable on the brace of furs and told me to turn, and remove my silks slowly so that he could watch. I had to squeeze my eyes shut to keep the tears from falling, since after all, if it was a dream, how could I cry as my body and heart ached to do? "Don't worry girl. Nothing nor no one will take you from Port Kar. You are safe here. Now hurry up, I have business to attend once I am finished with you."

When I turned around, after the silk had slid down my leg, I looked upon Sage again. Only this time, it was not Sage. It was that dark eyed man standing where Sage had been sitting. My heart leapt to my throat. I was speechless. I felt myself start shaking uncontrollably, tears that had been held back suddenly started to stream down my cheeks. "I hoped you'd come, Master." I finally was able to whisper, unsure if he even could hear me. No emotion was written on his face. Nothing I could decipher. If only I could tell him all of these things that fill my heart and soul when I see him! Wait.. was I dreaming again? A dream within a dream? "Please be real. Please, I beg of you.. please be real, Master." I was choking up, trying to hold back the sobbing quivers from my voice. Without a word, he motioned to his boots. It was only a few short steps from him, but I ran and fell upon my knees. I couldn't form words to express how I felt being at his feet. I wasn't sure he would want to hear them if I could have.
Suddenly the sounds of voices- Therise, Sekret, Naz, Spider, all of them.. sounded distant. My head never raised from his feet, too afraid to look around and see if I was still truly in the den of thieves.

The chill suddenly became biting, so I opened my eyes again and found myself stretched out beside the cooking fire, which had nearly dwindled down to nothing. I was there! It had been a dream! My heart suddenly soared and I was overcome with emotion. I couldn't stop crying. I nearly kissed the ground in realizing that the whole thing had been just a dream. I thought I missed the aspects of such things that being in the city provided. I was wrong. What I missed, what I needed, what I craved was right here. To serve this man who owns me. It feels as though this is what I was born to do. Not anyone else, but him. Am I foolish? Am I foolish to want to open that part of me that I haven't allowed any to touch? A man can own my flesh, but he cannot force my heart. Do I dare? Would he even want it if I did?

I have never felt such a joy in my life to realize that I am indeed still here. I've a fire to tend to, food to prepare and must figure out a way to make myself worthy to him.

Morning Comes

I had promised myself that I would watch over him while he slept. He needed to sleep. To heal. To be able to slumber without having to keep an ear out for whatever may approach. I wanted to take his pain from him. I wanted to give him the comfort of knowing I was there, and awake, and watching over him. It had taken only a short while before I could tell by his breathing he had fallen asleep. I adjusted myself so my weight would be comfortable to him and not add any pressure to his injured shoulder. It was then that I was able to really contemplate things. To think of what had happened and consider my options.
In looking around his wagon, I can tell he is a simple man with simple tastes. He seems to have no desire for fancy trinkets or flashy objects of great material wealth. I'm pretty sure he could have them if he wanted, but the only prize he had taken from the raid was me. No telling how many countless raids he has been on, yet there was no sign of it displayed anywhere that I could see. I examined a little closer his face, tracing the highness of his cheekbones and the strong curve of jaw. I was surprised to find that he is much younger than I expected. He has all the power of a seasoned warrior yet his face reflects youth where his eyes appear to have witnessed so much. When he moved at times, I could tell that his shoulder pained him yet had he been awake, I doubt he'd have let it cross his face.

At some point, despite my desire to watch over him, I must have drifted off. A light sleep, but dozing none the less. When I woke, I had buried my face against his neck, and stirred myself with the sound of my own soft whimper against his skin. His scent filled my senses. Manly. Musky. Something untamed and wild. Something addicting. Kings help me, but I found myself craving him. Just the weight of his hand on my hip was driving me over the edge of sanity. What is wrong with me? He had said he was some sort of magical man. Is it possible he has entangled me in some sort of trance? A trance of desire? Are such things possible at all? I needed air. I needed distance away from him to clear my head.

I tucked the fur around his body where mine had been, careful to get out from beneath his arm without disturbing him. It was almost blindly that I stumbled, overwhelmed by everything that I came spilling out of his wagon and into the most beautiful sight I have ever seen. I have seen the rise of Lar Torvis over the colorful bridges of Ar. I have seen the rise over Thassan waters. Nothing could have prepared me for such wonder. It was spellbinding. I do not know how long I sat there, on the step of his wagon just watching it. But I knew right then, coupled with the factor of what he stirred inside of me, that I did not ever want to be away from this place. Somehow all of the luxury of the city seemed so small in comparison to the true beauty. I wanted to watch this a thousand times more. Maybe in his arms.

His arms. Such a distraction of thought! I had to do a little hunting of my own to find his food supply and utensils. I found several botas of water kept, so with digging here and there, I managed to brew up a small kettle of blackwine for him. I chopped up some tarsk sausage and cheeses and made an omelette, and some breads. There was a basket of berries that I scooped up and put into a bowl as well, and made sure that I was quiet once I reentered his wagon. I left the food covered so he'd find it when he woke. I had things to do. I had a mission to take on. I had to prove myself worthy to him today to the best of my ability. I put on a kettle of chipped bosk, and suls. Tossed in some vegetables that I found stored. I don't know how they are used to cooking here, but all I can offer is what I know. Perhaps I'll make some honeyed sweetbreads for him if I can get back to his wagon in time. It was peace of mind knowing that at least the stew would be simmering, and the fire stoked so it would last for awhile, while I was out taking care of my chores. I am unsure of what he expects of me, but I can only try.

First thing I did was make sure that his sleen was at a good distance and wasn't going to snap my ankle off if I should attempt to leave the area. Strap after strap of botas were taken and while I noticed some of the bota toting slaves headed in a direction, I followed, yet of my own path. Fifteen trips it took to fill all the botas. Fifteen! And I am not even sure that it will be enough to get thru the entire day. There were many more left, though those appeared to be extras. So I left them for the time being. I never realized water was so heavy. I used the contents of one bota before refilling to wash myself, head to toe. The water was refreshing but the air was bitingly chilled on bare skin. I didn't dare take any of his clothing or dig for something to wear. If he chose to keep me naked, it was his right.

I found a basket and set off on my bosk shit duty. A smaller pouch I carried on my hip just in case I found any berries that were ripened. I found plenty of dung. Most of it fresh, some of which I didn't see until it squished right between my toes. How I could miss such a pile that is as big as Ar itself, I do not know unless I was just totally enthralled into my thoughts again. Dried. I picked up one pile that had insects scurrying around. I hoped no one heard the screech I let out when a bug ran up my arm. Bugs! The bosk looked at me like I had lost my mind. He probably would have to. I had to find some sort of strength to bury down any further screams of critters and bugs that I may find, since I must prove myself. But it.. is.. bugs. BUGS! Ahns passed. I knew he'd be awake by now. And my poor little basket had only a small bit of the piles needed. I had not eaten, since one, I wasn't sure I was allowed to just yet, and two, I was in a hurry. I thought this would an easier task than it has proven to be. The pastel colors of daybreak gave in to a clear skied day. The chill still hung in the air, but at least the warmth helped ease that from being so frigid. It was that biting cold that was incentive to find enough of these bosk chips so to not be forced to sleep outside. I walked, and walked, finding some here and there, and finding that it felt as though I was going too far. I kept looking back, wondering if I knew the way. Hoping I knew the way. I didn't want to be food for his beast. Or any beast for that matter.

I began making my way back, picking up what bits I could find. There were dried bits of wood too, that I took, hoping it'd make up for not having a full basket. Full. The basket was maybe a third of the way, if that. Maybe I am looking in an area that had already been picked over. He had said dried for several seasons, so no telling how many had come this way before, seeking the same thing so their Masters would not send them to the cold to sleep. I'll make my way back and check on him, see if he needs anything. Perhaps he can give me some idea as to where the great city of bosk dung is at.

The closer I get to camp, the more I feel myself shaking inside. Should I speak to him of this craziness that fills my head and mind? If its true, and he does intend to sell me, I suppose I have nothing to lose. They say that a slave is prohibited from hiding anything. Yet I fear what I feel. I fear showing it. What happens if...

I cannot even force myself to think on it further. It aches if I do.

Confusion

I found myself introduced to his feet once again, thanks to the aide of several hands of nearby slaves. I almost literally bit the dust. Why does he scare me so? Is it the fact that he looked so much more fierce than even the warriors I have witnessed in battle. I've seen bloodshed. I've seen battles. What makes this so different? Maybe it is because he is a world apart from anything I have ever known outside of stories told by the scribes and storytellers. Maybe it is how he looked at me before I found myself bound over his beast. I try to figure it out, yet I find myself distracted. Distracted by the thoughts of him. I should hate him. I should fear him. He took me away from every possible familiar comfort that I know. Dumped me off in a place where I know nothing except for him. Yet I asked myself last night as I lay across him- if he gave me the choice, to return me to those familiar surroundings, would I go?

Vanity. All slaves have it. Myself no exception. I wanted to bathe. Be prepared. Be pretty for his eyes. Yet here I was, tossed down at his feet like a lump of sul sack. I felt so foolishly helpless. This is a lesson in humility. Tangled hair, smeared in dirt, tattered silk. How could he ever see me as pleasing like this? Maybe he sees me as a profitable asset and intends to sell me off first chance he gets. Why does that very thought drive fear into my blood?

He commanded me to look at his eyes. There wasn't the spill of blood this time, and he looked somewhat more at ease than he had prior. It was hard to take my eyes from him. He looked like some sort of vision to me. Something surreal. I have served many men. What is so different about him? What is it that reaches inside of me and refuses to let go? My heart pounds. Palms get sweaty. I tremble. Part of me feels such a great ache and yet I cannot explain any part of it.

He engaged me into conversation, wanting to know of my life. I told him what I could. Of the slaving house. Of Justinian. Of Cassius. Of Picaroon. Of Ar. Of Port Kar. There is much I didn't say, of my breeding and of the antics I have pulled. I have never been a disobedient slave. I prefer to think of myself as creative. I get the feeling at points in the conversation he was testing me, if not ridiculing me in some form. I had to refrain, yet there were times when he sparked that trigger inside of me that made me want to stand up and tell him that I'd show him. I'd show everyone who have any doubts about me. I'll prove them all wrong. I can do this. I will do it well. I'll be the best damned slave he has ever owned or considered owning.

I am given a small bit of tasks to perform. It was brought into focus very sharply just how out of my element I truly am. I am used to carrying the coin in a pouch and delivering it to the closest shop for oils. Here, I am told I must pick bosk shit. Bosk...shit. Okay, so I can learn. He was patient enough in showing me what I must look for. At least he is willing to teach me rather than expect me to figure it out the hard way. I asked a lot of questions, too, just to hear him speak. I enjoyed studying him as much as it seemed that he was studying me as well. I don't understand him fully, or his way of life, but I intend to learn. Odd given there has been so few things in my life I have ever wanted to learn on my own free will.

I have displayed before many men, too, but when he tore the silks from my skin, it felt different. The way he looked at me was different. Part of me was hopeful that it was a hunger in his eyes that I saw. Part of me feared that it was exactly that. Yet, he did nothing more than look me over. Such an odd sensation, to feel a man's gaze weighted so heavily on my body. He could have touched me and gotten the same reaction. Is it my breeding that causes me to react this way to him? If so, why didn't it happen before, with others? I am so confused. So much I don't understand.

I could tell he was tired after spending several ahn, so he introduced me to his wagon, much in the same way I was introduced back to his feet. A thunk and a bruise or two. Am I so transparent that he could see it in my eyes my longing to touch him? He asked if I wanted to. It took every ounce of restraint I had to not fling myself on him and loose all of the aching I had felt. I touched his face, attempting to offer a comforting touch. He reached out and drew me to him, using my bared body for his warmth. If only he knew what electric currents surged thru me when my skin met his. If only he knew how hard and fast my heart pounded relentlessly in my chest. I wonder if he felt me tremble.

Will he be the last and final owner that I will serve? Is it possible that I could have found what so many other slaves sit and whisper and dream of? Is it even reasonable that I could hope or beg for such a thing? He already thinks me worthless. This is the first time in my life I have ever felt so confused. And all because of a dark eyed man who has power that clings to the air around him like some magical aura. Maybe I have just been having one very wicked dream, and will soon wake up, passed out in the floor of the den. Yet.. I hope not. I beg for it to be real.

It Begins...

How many times must my curiosity get the better of me before I stop?

Justinian's lesson should have stayed with me longer. I should have considered his teachings even if he had decided to take his leave and move on. In what time he owned me, profound lessons had been taught. Some of the more physical nature, some not. His words had the bite of a lash, without ever having the whip in his hand.

I've seemed to get myself in and out of things that it is likely not many other slaves have done. How I manage to pull some of it off is beyond me. I'd like to say it was quick wit, quick thinking and being fast on that which flatters the ego of man, distracting away from what I intend or intended. It has never been that I am a bad or disobedient slave, but I see no reason to be some walking, mindless drone that some slaving houses are known for droning out. If I cannot think for myself, how can I possibly ever expect or hope to anticipate and please? Bah. My breeding doesn't dictate that I must be empty minded. But maybe it is that fact itself that enables me to do some of the things I do. I haven't quite figured that out yet.

I've always been used to coming and going, much more freely than most of my station. It was always easy enough to come up with a reason, and easier still to duck behind someone, kneel at their feet and be secure in the protection offered there given a slave in service is often focused on one lone individual. I learned much. Maybe too much. A woman has to stay a step ahead if she doesn't want to be found beneath the lash. I've had my fair share of that, too.

It should have been easy. A sneaking on board, strike out for a couple of days, then beg of some lonely traveler on his way to the coast. I've done it a hundred times. From Ar to Picaroon. Little did I know that this day would be different. I would come face to face with the most fascinating, fierce looking man I have ever laid eyes on. And unlike the others, he gave me no choice. By the time my brain registered to run, there was blood and screams everywhere. Complete chaos.

He was injured. Blood streamed down his chest. By all rights, I would have thought he'd have been more concerned with taking care of his shoulder rather than selecting a prize for himself. The smell of blood was strong. Between the whirling chaos, the pools of blood, violence and the constant rocking, I became horribly ill. I don't know how many times I faded out only to wake with heaves. I tried to watch from my position, to see if he would falter. What if he fell back on his kaiila and bled to death? Would I have stood a chance of running?

By the time we arrived, he was ashen. The blood loss was greater than perhaps he wanted to let on. As I sat among the other slaves once he had dropped me off to clean up, I got the feeling that my life as I knew it had just changed. Many things were changing. The slaves stared at me as though I was some odd rarity, whispering amongst themselves with not too welcoming glares. Drawing my knees up, I put my head down, seeking just a small nap. I needed my head clear. My body ached and my stomach still lurched. For what short time I got to close my eyes and rest, I was most grateful.

Soon enough, I would come face to face with this man again. I had no rehearsed lines to recite nor witty remarks to make. I wasn't even sure I could get words out at all. Even in the darkness behind closed lids, his voice whispered to me.

Do I dare listen?