To Dream.. Or..Not

I don't know how to explain to him that it is different. Somewhere in the course of the last day, I am different. Maybe in this strange communication we have in silence, words will not be needed. Sometimes I think they complicate things when the looks passed back and forth, and the touches given speak much more and differently than what our words may say.

The ahn was late when he returned, but I waited as I had promised myself I would. No sooner had I heard the sounds of his boot falls step into the wagon, I had drawn myself down into a kneel at the foot of his furs, alongside a tray of fresh squeezed juice and an assortment of finger foods he may enjoy before resting. I had gone to the woman who I has asked so frequently of beading, asking favor that I may come across a flute. So, while he undressed and relaxed with a few bites of food, I knelt beside the furs and simply played for him. A soft, gentle song like that of a gentle breeze yet with a haunting sound of rhythm kept by my fingertips. If he was surprised I could play, he said nothing, only finished his business and stretched out into his furs. I offered him a smile when he leveled his eyes on me expectantly then crawled in beside him to find the warmth of his arms. I dotted his chest with caresses of kisses before my cheek came to rest there, listening to his heartbeat. If he minded, he showed that neither. Only closing his eyes with a hand placed on my hip to still any motion.

It was a deep, exhausted slumber I fell into. Peaceful. For all of his pushing and prodding into my mind, for all of his venomous words that challenged me, there was no tension I could feel between us. If there was, it was being hidden well. Something stirred me from my sleep, however, finding that my arm was no longer draped over him but over a bundle of furs in his place. I barely got glimpse of him leaving the wagon, so I hurried to my feet so to follow. "Master.. is something wrong?" I asked him. But as I came out of the wagon, I did not see him. I looked around for a moment, trying to decide where he could have gone when I noticed movement in the distance, so it was there I took off toward. "Master?" Keeping as quiet as I could, not wanting to wake anyone.

He stayed steps ahead, so much so that it was impossible to catch up. He is used to this land, while I am still learning where the knolls and dips are of the land itself. I stumbled many times, only to hurry and try to catch up once more. It was clear he had no intentions of answering me. Maybe I was not supposed to follow. As I started to look around, it struck me as eerie. The leaves of the trees seemed to move. A tree that was not there before would suddenly be there when I looked back, making me think perhaps I was taking some sort of zigzagged path in my effort to catch up. It felt like there were people moving in the shadows, as I could hear voices whisper. "Go back.." "Be careful of what you wish, slave." Surely it was all figments of my imagination since I was still half asleep. Every so often, I'd glimpse a face from the corner of my eye, but when I turned to look, there was nothing. Other whispers followed, some I could make out, some I could not. Some no more than sounds of some sort of laughter.

Finally, in a clearing, I was able to pause, since he had stopped and was seeming to stare down at something on the ground, his back to me. "Master?" I whispered as I started my approach. "What is it you want slut?" Came the reply. Husky. It almost didn't sound like him. At first, it startled me. "Are you all right? What bothers you so, Master.. please speak to me." As I approached and drew down to my knees. I wasn't sure if I'd met with more venomous tones or a backhand, or granted the very thing of which I had asked. For a long time, the silence held. He did not make a move. I wanted to reach out and touch him, offer the comfort that I was there, but before my hand could make that contact, he turned suddenly and glared down at me.

What had happened to my Master? There was this swirling energy, much like a vortex that seemed to surround him suddenly. Protectively. In his eyes danced flames. I scrambled back, more out of shock than fear, only able to stare at him. "What do you want from me?" It was demanded. I was still in such a state of shock that I wasn't sure if I could speak. If I did, would I even make any sense? "I was worried." Came a timid reply. Again, those flames seemed to burn brighter and the question was demanded once again. "What do you want from me slave." It was one of those times when he had me cornered. What could I tell him but the truth? "Inside, Master. Inside of you. Please.. talk to me. I only want to be allowed close to you. Please believe me when I say.. my place is with you."

It looked as though I had angered him. The flames grew ever feverishly hot. But then suddenly, everything around me was darkness. It was like being in the middle of a tornado, everything spinning around me yet I was still. I could not see anything, not even him. Only blackness. Hands touched my body, then I felt breath against my skin. Words, almost chanted seemed to be spoken, though I have no idea what they meant. This was not any sort of sex, nor was I granted a kiss as I had yearned for. This was something that felt as if it reached into my very soul and grasped at my being. There cannot possibly be any sort of physical gratification that comes close to what I felt right then. He could have used me for hands upon hands, and still it wouldn't have come close to the euphoria I was basking in. It was though he had moved within me, thru me, all around me at once and yet consuming me from the inside out. All I could do was whimper and plead. "Let me love you, my Master.. please let me love you." From the heart those words were taken, said in place of where blissful moans should have been. I do not know how long this lasted before I was allowed to fall back, panting in breath and beating thunder of heart. My eyes were so tightly closed as I felt entirely intoxicated.

I rolled over, to see if I could struggle to my feet only to find that when I rolled over, I bumped into him. Back in the furs, back in the wagon, as if nothing at all had ever happened. He was deep in his slumber. And here was I, trembling and still surging from whatever it was that just moved literally thru my body. My heart beat so fiercely that it almost made me feel queasy, so I once again put my head down on his chest while I looked thru the darkness of his wagon. The whisper was oh so faint.. "Be careful of what you wish for.. " Yes, my mind was playing tricks on me and it had just been a dream. Either that or I had simply gone mad. In any case, I nestled back into his arms to try to find that peaceful realm of sleep again, trying to not think too hard on things.

I might have believed it all to be a dream had there not been a skinned spot on my knee where I had stumbled. Was any of this possible? For now, I won't think about it. I won't bring it to him lest he chain me to the wagon and think my mind is gone. This time, I intend to watch and listen closely. To everything.

By Star's Light...

I did it. I think I did it anyhow. As much as I wanted to be angry, I still couldn't help but go to his feet the moment I saw him. The Mistress, Cana, was there and spoke with him for a time which allowed me a while to gather my thoughts. What I could anyhow.

My eyes hurt. My hands hurt. My heart hurt. When he asked what had disrupted my peace, all I could ask him was a simple question.. why not me? I knew that would open a can of worms, but I had no idea how big those worms were going to be. His words bit into me hard. Lashed at me in a sharper way than a whip could ever touch my skin. I wanted to flee, run from his words and cry until it didn't hurt anymore. But I didn't. I stayed there, refusing to allow myself that and forced myself to calm. He pushed me with his words, taking me to the brink of anger and to the brinks of wanting to scream. The more he saw that emotion inside of me, the more he pushed. Perhaps it was out of desperation of not knowing what else to do, I clashed head on with one of my greatest fears. I reached out to him, and asked for his guidance. He must think I fancy myself so smart that I try to figure it all out on my own. Perhaps in many ways, I do. Not so much think I am smart, but that I do try to figure things out. I can only liken it to riding a kaiila. You can put a person on there, and teach them to ride, but what pride do you have until you see the person do it on their own? I want that pride in his eyes.

Yes, I got jealous. No, I don't understand why. He says its because I think that I care. Think... I care? My fears have manifested into a huge dark cloud that now hangs over me. Rejection. From him, from his people. Yes, I fear. But inside that fear also comes a determination. I have seen the most timid of people, so filled with fear, that they would kill swifter than the one who holds his sword so mightily. He may not understand being my anchor in this new world, but as I explained to him, my fate can change so quickly, without regard, that I draw strength from that which is secure to me. He may never understand that. But he is right.

Our conversation ended on a semi gentle tone. He seemed neither pleased or displeased. So tonight, while I sit by the fires, I speak to the stars. That small tri cluster that seems to always be the first ones to twinkle so brightly.

"I do not understand why it is that I was brought to this land, but I know in my heart, this is where I belong. With this man who owns me, is where I belong. Give me strength to find what it is that I need to be, need to learn and need to understand. Give me wisdom to find the right words to approach him with. Give me the wisdom to get into his mind and soothe calm into the silent storm that rages. I am not so foolish to think he does not want me truly. He had his choice during the raid, many a pretty slave, yet he chose me. He doesn't have to allow me to sleep with him at night, but it is in his arms that I do, each night by his wish. He has kept me, when he could have easily cast me to another or cut my throat. I know that I am wanted. So why does he not allow me close? Does he fear me? Fear allowing me close to his heart? I can look upon this woman now, because it is me, not her, that belongs to him. It is me who belongs to Fonce of the Tuchuk, and only me. Give me the wisdom to remember that, no matter what fears rear their ugly heads at me. I am like no other here. Not because of my color, not because of my breeding. Because I do belong to him. I am his. Not one, not a single one of the slaves can take that away from me. Only he has that right. Never again let my eyes be clouded by tears of an empty emotion that has no place with us. I do not need his collar, or his signature knot as I am made fun for. I do not need his brand. I need no outward signs or reason to prove anything to anyone. I have let my city ways taint my mind, and allowed their ways to eat away at my vanity. These things have no place here, in this land, with my Master. Take them from me. Take these things from me. I have held on to bits and pieces of things I have claimed to surrender until I find I do not want them any longer. They burden me. Help me to stand tall and with pride. Because I am his Pink and I belong to him. That in itself is enough."

He will find me waiting for him tonight. He will find me warm and inviting and thankful. And if he allows, it will be in his arms I will sleep tonight. Not out of fear, not out of needing an anchor in this land, but because it is where he has allowed me to be, and where I need to be. The heaviest of all chains are invisible chains, and I am finding them wrapping tighter with each passing ehn. Now, if only I can find a way to crumble that wall around him, so that he will let me in. I won't give up. My learning, or my trying. I will succeed one day. I must. I am his Pink.

Courage.

Such an easy word to say yet it takes so much to manifest itself. Maybe it took too long. I did what I had avowed to myself I would do, or at least attempted it. I went seeking my Master with a determination that even if I had to gnaw and get into trouble, I would get him to talk to me. I made sure everything was perfect. Wagon was cleaned, furs rolled back and aired out, plush and comfortable, black wine ready, even some extra sweet rolls should he hunger. Then set off to go find him, unsure of what to expect or exactly what words to say once I did.

He had gone to the main fires, so that was the path that I took. I had no sooner come to the edge of the shadows than I see another before his feet. My own feet became like lead. I should have turned away and gone back to the wagon. I should have done anything but stand there and stare. I knew the moment he took her by the arm what was to happen and inside of me, flared this rage.

In this camp, there is not much that goes on that you cannot hear if the sounds are loud enough. And while I returned in a run to the wagon and to the smaller fire, I couldn't drown out the sounds that I heard, not even with my own sobbing. How could he? Why not me? What is wrong with me? "He is just a man. Just another man I am to serve." Says that little voice inside my head. If this is so, why does my heart ache so? Time in, time out, the words come.."slaves are not to be jealous" but with every pore of my being, I hated him right then. I hated her. Even more so, I hated myself. I was trapped with nowhere to run without the risk of becoming bait for sleen. The love I had for the darkness was also suddenly gone. Even when I had buried myself, inside the wagon with the furs over my head, the sounds of the mixed pleasure haunted me. I wanted to scream with frustration and yet I knew that soon he would return to his wagon, ready for sleep.

He did. I pretended to be asleep when he came in, having wiped my cheeks over and over in hopes of no tears leaving their mark. I could smell her on him. I'm sure, he thought nothing of it, hunkering down to finally drift off into sleep. I could not. I couldn't even get my eyes to close for long. After so much peace, now was only confusion. I couldn't wait for the first signs of day to come, counting down the ihns until it was safe to leave the wagon. His food was prepared, as always, and left beside his furs. But this time, no sooner had the cracks of light filtered thru the clouds, I ran.

Finally some release from the tears I had held, too shamed for him to see them, too angry to let him know it hurt me. I ran so I didn't have to see her, or anyone else who knew of what happened. I am his, yet I am not good enough? What did it matter? My owners used other slaves all the time. If anything, I was relieved that it was not me that they chose. Why does it matter so much now? Maybe its because he is all I have in this new world I am in. He is my anchor and my guiding light. Maybe its because I meant those words, that I belong at his feet and no others. I wish my mind would stop. I ran until I could run no more, unsure of where I was since most of the way had been blinded by tears. It was there I sank down, beating the soil with my hands and let loose all the screams that raged inside of me. "I hate you! I hate you!" Each time I screamed those words, I knew I lied. I wished it were true. He had ripped from me not only my courage, but reminded me.. I am the worthless one. I had cried myself into a daze, exhaustion setting in. I wanted to curl up and sleep, to stop thinking and feeling for a single ehn. I looked up into the same sky that gave me such peace and hope and begged aloud.. "where did it all go?" For the first time, I truly felt alone.

There is no way to mask the fact my eyes have swollen and reddened due to tears. There is no excuse I have to give for why chores were neglected this day. I won't even have tears left if he chooses to whip me for this. I am numb. My courage has gone, words have failed me. My desire to fight and learn this way of life suddenly hurts. Peace has turned my mind into chaos and I have no direction to turn. I doubt I can hide the contempt that will show if I see this woman. I am not real sure what he will see when he looks at me, though I know for a fact I will not be able to look upon him fully. I don't know what to feel. Maybe it was too soon. Maybe I reached too far for those stars. All I know is that for tonight, the silence will remain unless he breaks it. He won't. I'm only a slave. Why should he care that my heart hurts, or my mind has taken such a hard spin? I'll just accept whatever comes and pull back into myself for awhile, as I have with every other man who has owned me. With him, I wanted to be true. I wanted to drop the masks and when I offer of myself, make it real. He has demanded it so. But that is something I am not sure how to do now....

I don't know what to do now..... find my way back.. eventually...

Freedom

Today, I am proud. I made the first real basket that actually looked as it was supposed to. Such a small feat for the other slaves here but a milestone for me. Part of me wanted to run over to that woman and show her, bounce up and down and tell her how ready I am to learn of the beading. But no. I'll place this basket in the spot where the other worn one was, and keep making them as they are needed. When she feels I am ready, she will come to me. That is something I have learned of these people. This isn't like in the city where I am competing constantly for some reward. This is living. My life. My Master's life. Necessities. I can have pride in the things I do, but yet not brag of them, for without them, I contribute nothing of value.

The work on the jacket has been started, though it is much harder to piece together than the quilt. Everything has to be measured, and it is impossible at times to place my arm over hi s chest while he sleeps so I can measure off a distance for one thing or another. At times, he must think I am trying to seduce him by sliding up and around him since I often find myself with an arm coiled around me and a tug back down to his side. I never question if he is sleeping or not, as his eyes are not open when he does this. Not a word gets spoken, so I usually fall silent and just curl against him so he will rest peacefully.

Peacefully. I have to admit, that is not a word I can describe for him as of late. A night he woke in the middle of the darkness, so drenched in sweat that I was nearly drenched too. I'm guessing it was a fitful dream. We all have them, but it seems as though his sleep is anything but peaceful. I have tried to soothe him, warm him and offer what comfort I can while he rests. I can feel the jolts sometimes when he wakes, yet I keep my eyes closed, not wanting to disrupt that moment of privacy while he pulls himself from whatever dream has stirred him so. I have to wonder too, if he is truly asleep while I offer my affectionate touches and whispers. His face, even his body, so beautiful in my eyes, as if hand carved by some celestial artist. Within that, such a depth, most of which I cannot yet fathom, but I am trying by the day to understand and learn. Never before have I met such a walking complexity of a man. Is it any wonder why I find myself drawn, and drawn deeper with each passing day, into the man that is now my Master. His depth is like some bottomless well yet my thirst, I cannot sate. If he looks at me, I want more. If he speaks to me, I want more. When he allows me at his feet, I want more. So much goes unsaid, yet at times, words seem to have no place. His eyes alone tell the story of what goes on in his mind. No, I do not profess to understand, only that whatever it is, it is raging within him like some wicked storm. Even sleeping at his side, I almost dread the rise of day, because I want more. Sometimes, I think I am crazy for feeling this way of a man, a Master, that outwardly, I scarcely know. But if this is crazy, I hope that I can keep drinking from that well and stay drunk forever.

I am learning too, there are more tasks at hand than the ones I have taken on, even if it is just a little at a time. I followed one today, under the pretense of going to gather the bosk chips, just so I could watch her in the task of milking the bosk. I must say, how intriguing. I have always seen bosk milk in bottles with the Merchant's wares, but never it come from the bosk itself. I must have stood there for half an ahn, watching, tilting myself until I was nearly bent over and on my head to watch how she was doing it. I suppose I unnerved the poor woman since she finally motioned me over so I could watch a little closer, even offered to let me try my hand at it, literally. I did try, but seems I am far too gentle. Barely did I squeeze where she looked as though she may yank the teets off the poor bosk. I cringed since if someone were to yank mine like that, I'd be making more snorting sounds than that bosk! I politely took my leave, feeling rather foolish that I could not do as she did. But.. ouch! I know the milk is needed but it has to be in the wrist motion, because my fingers sure did not have what it takes. That is a task I will attempt again one day, when I am feeling much braver. Besides, I am not sure that bosk cared too much for me staring at it anyhow.

It was actually the first day in many that the skies were so clear that at first glance, you'd think you'd not need a hat or anything. It was glorious! So much so that after I completed most of the chores, I decided to take a little walk. Well, I say a little but it felt as though I walked for quite some time. No matter how many times I take a direction, there always seems to be something I didn't notice the last time. Of course, I take the basket with me, just in case I happen upon a goldmine of chips that have not been picked over. But today felt special. I cannot explain why. The rays of warmth beamed down and seemed to engulf my entire being. I usually always sing to myself while I am out on these ventures but today, singing did not seem enough. No one was around. No one was watching, so I put the basket down and just started to dance. No reason. No particular dance I had learned in the years of training. Just dance. Reaching my hands toward the skies, twirling and laughing as though I was entertaining an entire crowd of people. Yet.. it was just myself. For that little bit of time, I felt so very free. My spirit soared. Just as I am with my Master, I wanted to keep dancing and twirling around and singing until I collapsed with exhaustion and giddiness from joy. Why so joyous? That, I cannot say I understand as of yet. My audience could not clap and give their praises yet for once, it was not that I sought. My dance was that of simple happiness, of being who I am, where I am, and the fact that so much beauty surrounds me. When I did finally fall to the ground and lay there, looking up at the sky and laughing to myself, I could have sworn I felt eyes on me. But I saw no one. Even when I looked around, I saw no one. It had to be my imagination, but for that ehn, it felt very strange. Not threatening, just a sense that I had not been as alone as I thought. Maybe that is still part of the city paranoia that still lingers within me. One day, I will dance for my Master, to show him my gratefulness for the gift he has given me. Of this, I have made up my mind.

Another thing, too, I have made my mind up of. Enough of this silence between us. It is time for me to stop being so timid. I know he will not speak to me first, for as he said, he should not have to come to me to seek company. It is I who must go to him. And go to him I intend to do. I'm still not real sure what I will say, but it is time to break this wall of silence between us. After all, if I can sleep in his arms every night, I should be able to find some sort of words to offer. Maybe I will try with small talk and see where that goes, since I cannot just blurt out..."Master, talk to me, I know something is on your mind." He'd think me looney. On this one, I'll have to play it by ear and feel my way as I go. But talk we will, if he will permit it so. If not, it won't be for the lack of my trying.

Which brings me to another thing. I sleep in his arms. Each night. An arm wrapped here, a leg there. Flesh to flesh and yet, he has not even so much as kissed me. Part of me questions if he finds me desirable or not, but if he didn't, then why would he have gone thru the trouble of taking me as he did? He could have had any one of the others, but he chose me. There have been times I thought surely he was just going to take me then and there, half asleep and pressed back against his chest, but no. Nothing more than a pass of hand or adjustment of body. Even so, that is just sex. Animals have sex. I want his kiss. I want to feel what stirs inside of him in how he would kiss me. Any other slave would probably laugh at me for saying such a thing, but yet its the truth. There is something greater that is held within a kiss than all of the times spent in the furs. Something that gives a deeper part of yourself, of your very life, your breath, that is shared within a kiss. I cannot say I don't ache for him to take me, as that would be a blatant lie. But its not that of which I crave. Silly I know, since if I cannot find words to make small talk, then surely a kiss would be even more frightening.

It's time I take a few chances and risks. All that can happen is that I succeed or fail. I'll never know until I try. If it means a chance of growing closer to this man called Fonce, then it is well worth the risk and the chance. Next I see him... the attempt will be made. Until then, time to summon what courage and strength I have, and hope somewhere in the warmth that was showered upon me during that dance, I was given a little wisdom as to what to do.

Baby Steps

To my surprise, there was a small bundle of leather that was left beside the basket that I use to do the mending. I remembered the warning I was given as I touched the soft leather, but I still think it will be worth the chance if it means it is a step toward something that will please him. I wish to thank the elder Master, and shall do so verbally one day, but for now, I think he just waits to see what I will do with it. I hope to make him proud as well as my own Master. Had I been back in the city, I would have taken him something. A bowl of stew, or some pastries. But I have learned that what is here is not mine to offer. The people eat well, but I am also learning how hard it is to work for each meal. One mistake and it could mean going without food for a hand. Maybe longer. There is much coming to my understanding. A much simpler way of life than I am used to, but it is also a much harder way of life. I've always been told slaves must earn their way. I never knew the depth of that statement until now. A simple way of life, but it has its complexities. So much to learn still...

He has said nothing of the quilt. In fact, I am not quite sure he has even taken notice. If he did, nothing had registered in his voice. I have not been reprimanded nor praised, which when I thought about it, is that what I really made it for? My own selfish desire for praise? I can say no- that I did it for him, so he would be pleased. Which is true. Then I find myself waiting for judgement. Even somewhat disappointed that there was nothing given either way. It was then that I looked into myself and questioned my motives. Perhaps that was his lesson. In any case, it was a good one. It really made me think, and rethink myself. I'm not a bad slave. I'm not a bad person. The desire I have to please him is a natural one. But. It has made me a better slave. I will make this new jacket for him. Because for one, he needs it. Two, a slave must see to her owner's needs. Three, it shows him his slave is not an idle slave without any skill. And this time, if he says nothing, I may should consider myself lucky after the elder Master's warning. In any case, I look forward to the time when it is made and can be laid out for him to wake to.

We don't speak much, Master and I, though sometimes I think there is something that weighs heavily on his mind. I want to ask him, but I don't think he'd share with a simple slave. At times, there's a storm that swirls in his eyes as if there are so many thoughts, or emotions, something, going on within him, that his very presence can be overwhelming. I try to soothe whatever is on his mind with soft touches and smiles. One day, soon in fact, I'll get brave enough start talking to him. He may regret that then, since I may never shut up after. I've not been so quiet since .. I can remember!

I've gotten down most of the basket weaving, though I doubt I'd win any awards just yet. They still look a little lopsided to me sometimes. The vulo and I, well, that is still a challenge, but I am learning by watching the other slaves. The one woman came to inspect the basket making and said I was doing better. When I inquired of the beading, she just smiled, pointed to the basket that I'd made and walked off. So, I will keep trying. I'll have to so I can bead the jacket before it's given to him. It has to be perfect.

I sat outside of the wagon the other evening, watching the snow come down. Nothing heavy. But the flakes that came down seemed so huge. I caught one and looked it closely, at the shape of it and how it glistened. Then another landed while the first had started melting away on my palm. It is fascinating to me, these snowflakes. Never the same, no matter how many may fall. I watched it dust along the wagons, the fires. It was such a peaceful feeling. And I realized just how much like these snowflakes we all are, no matter our station in life. I may be of the city, but I am learning to adapt. I am but one of many yet whatever fate designs destiny, I was drifted to come here. And Master is certainly not like any other I have encountered. Ever. In my life. A simple beauty. A simple understanding that most take for granted. " It's just snow. It makes it difficult to get around. Makes it too cold to do anything." And so on. They should slow down for an ehn. Look at the snowflakes. Look at the patterns and appreciate the unique beauty in each one. Just as I am learning to do with what has been placed before me.

This self reflection thing isn't so bad. I see a lot in myself that needs to change, to make me better of a slave for him. Now all I need is the chance to show him, even if its just little bits at a time. I'm trying. I want to be worthy of him. The others still make fun of the collar I wear. No sign that I belong to him other than his claim. Its a good thing here, that is enough.

So far, I've been allowed to sleep beside him. Even have woke a few times to find myself wrapped around him, or his arm over me. Words do not describe what feeling this brings. This is where I belong. With him.

Drowning

Happy go lucky. That was once used by some of Port Kar to describe me. I have often lost myself into the daydreams and thoughts of the moment, and for some reason, no one ever seemed to care. I was so very pleased with myself. I had prepared a special meal for him, right down to a tasty dessert. I had even attempted my first time at weaving a basket, though no sooner than I tested it with a stone, the left bottom side fell out. I asked one of the other slaves to teach me, and while I could tell she disliked me and felt I was an intrusion there, she said she would show me but one time how to do certain things. The first lesson was to be the basket weave. She showed me where the strength of the basket needed to be, and how to cross the layers just so to give it foundation. She said once I showed her that I had brains enough to do that, she'd teach me the next thing I asked. Beading. I so much want to bead the jacket if I am allowed the leather, but I didn't dare tell her of such a secret. She walked off after asking what I was called, and when I replied "Pink", she said it fit for a dweller. I could tell she too did not think I will survive here. But in my mind, despite all else, I see no other option. Not if I am to remain with him.

After several ahn of trying this basket weaving, I finally put it down for the day and would try again tomorrow. I noticed some of the girls tossing out feed to the vulo, so I asked if I could help. BIG mistake. Oh sure, they laughed and gave me handfuls of feed, and off I went, sprinkling it out there like they had been doing. Somehow, somewhere, they forgot to tell me that the vulo will chase you if you run out and they are still hungry. I don't think I have ever run so fast to his wagon since having arrived. Nor did I realize such small fowl could be so viscous! I'm sure it gave them all a good laugh, and subject for the evening talk amongst themselves. City slave feeds the vulo and almost becomes vulo food herself.

After cleaning the wagon, and so forth, I had put the finishing touches upon the quilt just in time to hide it when Master approached. I was feeling so good about things, even finding a bit of humor in the antics of the afternoon. He crouched down, and I greeted him from my lounging position, giving little to no thought of it. What a mistake that was. I soon found myself thrust down to the ground, first upon my face, then soon shoved to my back. At first, I had no idea what I had done to anger him, but I begged forgiveness even so. Another mistake, in that since I was unclear in what I had done wrong, he questioned to what it is that I was begging forgiveness for. My reply of his displeasure was too vague, for it provided him no answers as to what I had done.

When it all started to dawn on me what his anger was over, when he explained to me of how I had sat there as though I was an equal and spoke to him over the fire as one of the free, I felt foolish. It was an act that could have been prevented had I only been thinking. I knew better. At this point, though he had not struck me, my body was sore from hitting the ground and my insides ached from the tone of his voice. At that moment, I was so angry with myself that I wanted to burst. Burst I did. Right at his feet, weeping uncontrollably. For all that I had held in, it came out like the breaking of a dam before I could stop it. All of the emotion, the fears, everything, all unloaded into the tears on his boots.

He allowed me to beg, for forgiveness and for his guidance, though I am unsure his forgiveness was ever granted. Not that I deserve it. Perhaps I am just as he calls me. Worthless. For nothing of my past can help me now. He did not need a whip to lash me. His words left welts deeper than my skin. All of the efforts made, they seem so trivial, so useless when it takes only a single act such as I committed to destroy any hope he had in me. He didn't have to speak it. He has no like for dwellers, as he calls them. None here do. How could I be so stupid to try to convince him that I know him inwardly when I am the epitome of that which leaves such a distaste in his mouth?

He left me so to go to the fires, while I was left crying in the snow. He had given me so much to think on; to work toward. But would it keep me there, with him, at his feet where I need to be? Need like I need the air to breathe...

Reason tells me if he didn't want me, I wouldn't be here. There are enough others in camp to who he could pass me off if he really wanted. Or he could cut my throat and be done with it. I cling to that small bit, as minute as it may be.

Lost

Mistakes. It is inevitable that mistakes will be made. I try to learn from each, taking inside of me whatever lesson is reached by the err of my ways. I'm not perfect. I'll never be perfect. Though I hope- hoped- to one day achieve to be perfect at least to one man. Him.

There have been times in my life when I felt alone. Misunderstood. No one to reach out to. No one I could talk to. If I compiled all of those times into a single moment, not even that moment could compare to what I am feeling right now. Lost. Completely and wholly lost.

Every lesson I have learned over time; every bit of training I spent years upon years learning; every way I was taught to please another; none of them hold even a droplet of water to the cup that I now hold in my hands. Meaningless. Every single one of them meaningless. I don't grieve for this loss or for the stripping away of what I thought I was to be. A myriad of other emotions have replaced what once was. Where do I go from here? This journey he has put before me. How do I find my footing upon this unseen path? This path is foreign to me, and to everything I 'thought' I knew. I'm scared. More scared than I have ever been in my life. With fear also comes determination. If only.....

He has set me on a soul searching mission. One that I feel he expects me to not survive. Am I so shallow? So much of a shell that I will not be able to find my way? I'm not afraid of what I may.. will.. learn. I am not afraid of how those lessons will come. What I fear most is what awaits at the end of the journey. Yes, I will be stronger, better, and have a greater understanding of not only myself but of what things mean. My incentive to keep this fear from overcoming me is him. Only him.

I sense in his words he does not expect his ownership of me to last. Part of that challenges me in that I must show him that I can and will learn these things. But at the same time, I am left torn. I begged of him. Begged to be his to the fullest extent; deeper than just flesh. He claimed I did not know him. But I do. I told him as much. Perhaps not in the ways he speaks of, or of his ways of life, but I do. I tried to tell him, but he thinks I speak untruth. Had I pushed the subject, I would have likely been punished.

Then again, is it just me? Is the feeling I have so deep within me that screams and begs to be released just a fabrication of my own mind? I was always told when you meet that 'one', IF it ever happens, which is so rare in a slave's lifetime, it would be known. It would be felt. Is that part too, to be stripped away with all else that I have learned? Were they wrong?

Then comes another challenge. Do I suppress this feeling and do the things expected of me, without allowing emotion to become a part of it? That essentially denies him of part of me. That would be wrong. Do I succumb to it and hope that one day, he will see it, feel it, even believe me? And if I do this, what happens if I am sold to another? Do I beg death rather than be cast from him? I do surrender to him my heart, even though he says I do not know him? Do I hide it?

I look around me. The vast lands, the animals, the waters, the people. I search for my place in the midst of this. I search for a way to be what I need to be; what he needs me to be. I am determined, but somehow even that doesn't feel to be enough. He says he is there to guide me, for now. For now. Who knows what tomorrow will bring, he says. A dagger in my heart is what that brings. For once, there is no wall around me, protecting me, allowing me to be this person that I was expected to be. What he sees is simply me. I have my pride. I have my strengths. I have my desires. I have my curiosity. What I need more than anything is him. But it is not my own needs I must concern myself with.



I look up to the skies and release my tears, begging for something, some sign. Help me understand. Help him to understand my words were true. Or strike down the feeling inside of me so that I no longer must live each waking ehn with that raw ache within. Damn my bloodline. And these emotions that confuse me so. For all of the torment, I'd not change a thing.

I'm so lost.

Colors

His quilt of many colors is finally finished, and laid across his furs. I know not what he will think or if he will even approve. It is but a humble offering by my hands to him. A small token of the need to please him. I am considering making some pillows to match, but I am unsure of going that step yet until I know what this offering will bring. I think I am in need of a long walk. I saw him leave earlier, and am tempted to follow after. I cannot assume he would wish the company, especially that of a slave.

I dared approach one Master to beg of some leather, explaining to him the surprise I had planned. At first he shoved me away, telling me to return to the wagon of my owner until he paused and asked who my owner was, given I have no outward sign such as collar or signature knot that claims me as his. He seemed surprised when I told him. He questioned me as to why I would do such a thing without his expressing a desire for one, and gave me a very stern talking to as well about the value of leather to the people. He also warned me that if I do this, and use the leather and he is displeased by it, that I run the risk of stern punishment. He asked if that was a risk I was willing to take. I told him yes, it was, that it was a risk worth taking if it did please him, and if it didn't, well the leather may be able to be replaced with what he takes from my own hide. He nodded and dismissed me, with the words he would think on it. I pressed my face to the dirt and left quickly, thanking him. His consideration is all I could beg for.

I'll wait and see his reaction, if any, over the quilt. I'm making a point to be off doing chores so he will find it on his own time. Plus that will give me time to prepare myself for his anger if indeed that is what I will face. I'm holding my breath....

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?