She finally left my wagons for reasons other than her chores. I don't know if she understands me well enough yet, but I think she actually believes I didn't see her hovering in the shadows near the main fire of the First Wagons. I didn't speak to her. I didn't call her. I wanted her to brave this moment on her own. And I was pleased to see that she did. Slowly, apprehensively, she left the false comfort of the shadows and crept into the firelight to kneel beside me.
This woman I speak of is my slave. The only woman I have bothered to take, and keep, for myself in some years. She was a free woman of Turia once. The daughter of a Merchant who specialized in the trade of wines. Her name, then, was Farah Jaela. Now? She has no name that I have allowed her. She is merely... slave. Wench, Kajira. In time I will likely grant her a name, but she is too raw for such a reward.
As I often do, I digress from the point of this writing. She came and knelt beside me. I let the fingers of my hand nearest her sift through her hair and I could feel the subtle shift of her head towards my hand. It pleased me to see her shaping into the wench she could be. But she knows me as the Bastard Tuchuk. A man forged of steel. In my long life I have worn many masks. This is the mask I wear for her. And true to the mask that she knows, I withdrew my affection and ordered her to make herself useful and tend to the free.
Her voice was timid as she asked if any had need of anything. It was almost laughable, as she had hurled insults and threats at me with the vehemence to make some men question their intentions with her. Ayguili was the only one who spoke up. He desired blackwine and she rose to go retrieve it for him. Although I spoke with the others, I still kept a careful observation on the girl. I began to wonder if she would guess at how he wanted his blackwine prepared and risk his ire if she guessed wrong. But she paused and asked exactly that, which he told her.
When she returned with his drink there was nothing flourishing or even remarkable about her presentation to him. She was graceful and accurate in her serve, but there was no desire evident. Ayguili complimented her and sent her away from him. With no other calls for her labor, she returned to my side and knelt. I continued to talk with the others for a few ehn longer. All the while that razor sharp tongue of hers remained still. And I even asked her in regards to her silence. She spoke sincerely and mentioned that she did not wish to be whipped this night. I could resist the laughter that began to build. I told her that perhaps tomorrow I would whip her then. There was a spark, a glimpse of the fiery nature in her copper flecked eyes at this. I smiled at her, then stood and excused myself from the fires to tend to other matters.
My wench remained, which I was pleased to notice. I would speak with her later in the night. And ask her what it felt like to serve and kneel before an Ubar.
This woman I speak of is my slave. The only woman I have bothered to take, and keep, for myself in some years. She was a free woman of Turia once. The daughter of a Merchant who specialized in the trade of wines. Her name, then, was Farah Jaela. Now? She has no name that I have allowed her. She is merely... slave. Wench, Kajira. In time I will likely grant her a name, but she is too raw for such a reward.
As I often do, I digress from the point of this writing. She came and knelt beside me. I let the fingers of my hand nearest her sift through her hair and I could feel the subtle shift of her head towards my hand. It pleased me to see her shaping into the wench she could be. But she knows me as the Bastard Tuchuk. A man forged of steel. In my long life I have worn many masks. This is the mask I wear for her. And true to the mask that she knows, I withdrew my affection and ordered her to make herself useful and tend to the free.
Her voice was timid as she asked if any had need of anything. It was almost laughable, as she had hurled insults and threats at me with the vehemence to make some men question their intentions with her. Ayguili was the only one who spoke up. He desired blackwine and she rose to go retrieve it for him. Although I spoke with the others, I still kept a careful observation on the girl. I began to wonder if she would guess at how he wanted his blackwine prepared and risk his ire if she guessed wrong. But she paused and asked exactly that, which he told her.
When she returned with his drink there was nothing flourishing or even remarkable about her presentation to him. She was graceful and accurate in her serve, but there was no desire evident. Ayguili complimented her and sent her away from him. With no other calls for her labor, she returned to my side and knelt. I continued to talk with the others for a few ehn longer. All the while that razor sharp tongue of hers remained still. And I even asked her in regards to her silence. She spoke sincerely and mentioned that she did not wish to be whipped this night. I could resist the laughter that began to build. I told her that perhaps tomorrow I would whip her then. There was a spark, a glimpse of the fiery nature in her copper flecked eyes at this. I smiled at her, then stood and excused myself from the fires to tend to other matters.
My wench remained, which I was pleased to notice. I would speak with her later in the night. And ask her what it felt like to serve and kneel before an Ubar.
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