Morning in the Camp
I am sore and bone aching tired. It is early morning; the grass still damp with
dew. The fire is drying my hair and heating the kettle. He is sleeping; the
scent of blackwine will wake him. I cannot grind the beans as finely I do at
Samsara, but I did bring the spice that flavors and scents it.
We left Ar abruptly yesterday and began the journey that will take us first to
the cabin in the woods and from there... I cannot say. Perhaps I simply don't
want to think about it.
The pack I wore was not uncomfortable, but very heavy. It was fitted to me by
someone from the Slaver Habib's camp. The man stood behind me, making
adjustments to the strapping so the pack would be balanced as I walked. As he
finished, he slid his hand high on my hip ... rudely and rough. I took
satisfaction in his snort of disgust as his hand encountered the metal belt,
though I did not allow my expression to change.
Though the girls on the chain walked as I did, they did not wear packs. They are
all shorter than I am and darker complected. They do not have fat ankles as I
said to my Master in the tavern. They stare at me; several of them speak a
dialect I don't understand. I sensed that they talked about me.
At one point, the pack shifted and I stumbled. I would have fallen down a slope
if one of the girls didn't grab hold of a strap. She adjusted it ... better
actually than it had been earlier ... and then walked with me for a time,
talking quietly. "Watch out for the girl with the two piercings in her ears; she
is lazy and sly. The tall guard pinches if he is displeased." Girl gossip and
distracting from the heaviness on my back. Her name ... I asked her. She
shrugged and said "Fourth girl on the chain ... today anyway."
I fell asleep with the warmth of his palm slowly rubbing a tender spot in the
small of my back. I woke in the dark to the sound of a woman's voice, low and
heated with passion, crying out with pleasure as she was well used.
It was mine.