[quote=@persianversion]
Najla did not stray that night. He had told her to do as she wished, and she moved to do just that, already exhausted by her fitful sleep the night before.  She had expected that her night would be just as restless as the one before, fearing that it was going to be haunted by dreams of her brother. It seemed that her God had blessed her then, for her sleep was uninterrupted by fears or dreams, and she awoke only after her new master had.

He had moved quietly, yet it had been enough to wake her. She could hear that he was getting dressed behind her, and so she remained on her side, her eyes shut, feigning as if she had never heard him awake. Perhaps he would see it as laziness, but Najla seemed to prefer that to immodest. Her eyes only opened when she heard the rustle of the tent flap, and she sat up quickly, her eyes flitting across the tent, only to see that he had truly left her alone. 

He was truly a strange man. He hadn’t touched her the night before, which had been a profound relief to her. Even this she could envision a number of reasons for, he was a Servant, and thus a more pious man than most, or perhaps he was simply sick of Sawarim faces, or didn’t like hers. Whichever it was, it was a welcome relief. What truly confused her was how uncaring he was towards her. Perhaps he truly saw her as no different than his sword or horse, simply less useful. 

Najla could think of dozens of reasons for his attitude towards her, yet none were satisfactory. Thus, she slipped out of the tent, allowing these reasons to become something of a game as she walked through the camp, towards the edge. It seemed a dangerous move to walk alone throughout the camp, yet Najla could think of no alternative besides relieving herself in the tent. She walked as far as she could from prying eyes, thankful for the few bushes that provided her shelter. Once finished, Najla did not linger out in the camp, she could feel the heat of their whispers as she walked, and continued on with her list of reasons in order to distract herself from them.

The empty tent was a welcome refuge, and she took advantage of this emptiness, undoing the small bag the steward had given her.  As she suspected, it was mostly clothes, a small roll of clean bandages and some healing salve, and thankfully, a spare pair of boots. He had given her a pair before she left, but Najla knew these were likely to wear out far too soon. She changed her clothes rapidly, though it was just into another tunic and hose, it made her feel slightly cleaner. There was no hairbrush, and so she undid her braid and brushed through her hair with her fingers, ignoring the pain of the tangles before tying it back up once more. 

Leaving the bag on her bed, Najla slipped off the edge of the stack of furs, gently moving onto her knees. She closed her eyes and began to whisper a Sawarim prayer, one that she had not been able to speak aloud for far too long. These had been only been spoken in her thoughts for some time now, and that habit still remained, for as she prayed, her ears remained trained on any movements outside. 

While Ketill had seemed not to care if she lived or died, Najla did worry what a Servant would think if he returned to see a Sawarim prayer being uttered in his tent. She whispered it quietly, praising God and his wife, thanking them for every blessing she had received and asking for more, not for her, but for her family, her brother. The whispers ceased as the slight rustle of the tent entrance began, and she quickly moved to sit on the edge of her bed again. When he entered, Najla found herself nodding at his words, turning back to grab her bag and shove everything back inside.

[i]“What can you do?”[/i] She glanced up at the question, halting her packing to watch him as he tried to fit his sword into place. The question was somewhat surprising, but she supposed it was a valid one. After all, she had seen nothing that he wanted of her. 

[i]I can ride. I’m a fair archer. I can read, write, even do figures. I can sneak into cities and take on identities.[/i] Her train of thought quickly halted. She could no longer do those things, or at least, no longer knew if she could. There were only a few skills she still retained, though they would provide little use to a solider.

[i]“I can ride.”[/i] She replied, returning to her bag. [i]“I used to do figures for my father, though I’m afraid I’ve lost that ability.”[/i] Having packed her bag and drawn it closed, she looked up at Ketill once more. [i]“Little that you would have use for, my lord.”[/i]

Her short list received only a command in response, at which Najla didn’t hesitate. She nodded and stood, slipping out of the tent wordlessly. 

The camp was far busier now than when she had slipped out before, as men gathered their things, folded tents and, like her, rushed to grab their horses. The horses had been fed and watered, likely by slaves or servants, and it was under the watchful eye of the militiamen set to guard the horses that she moved to saddle it. She had never done it for herself before she had started traveling, yet it was a familiar process. It did not take long before she was calming the horse down to allow her to tighten the cinch as much as possible. 

She had been aware that there had been eyes on her, but the busy camp had prevented any of the whispers that her morning adventure had brought. Now, she could hear them again, though these seemed louder, and far more angry than curious.

[i]-Sawarim bitch[/i]

These were the first words that traveled to her clearly, yet Najla only had to ignore them for a moment longer before her work was done. Untying the horse, she grasped the reins and began to lead it back to the tent. This time, the whispers did not change, but followed. She did not look, but sped up her pace, hoping to return to the tent before her fears were realized. Najla managed to get closer to her destination, but she was not close enough before the whispers became a voice, loud and nearby.

[i]“Oi!”[/i]

Najla turned her head, only to see the source – or sources- approaching her rapidly. They were only two men, obviously peasants, though someone had seen fit to thrust swords into their hands. Before she could say a word, they were at her side, too close for comfort. One pulled her arm, ripping her away from the horse’s reins, which the other took. Najla tried to pull out of his grip, but he was latched onto her, his face too close, his crude words now directly spat in her face.

[i]“You’re that desert whore, huh?”[/i] Najla shook her head desperately, still trying to pull her arm out of his grasp. He only gripped tighter. Her eyes were wide and panicked, her movements frantic as she tried to pull herself out, but in his stare she saw only hatred. 

[i]“I never thought I’d see one of you.”[/i] His friend spoke up behind him, and the man holding her grinned, though without any humor. [i]“Soon we’ll get to fuck one of em.”[/i]

At this, Najla pulled her free hand back, driving it into the man’s stomach as hard as she could. There was not enough force to really hurt him, but it was enough to cause him to let go. She slipped out of his grasp and moved to back up, but turned to find his friend standing behind her, waiting. For a moment, she considered running, leaving the horse behind and sprinting as far away as she could, but the chance was snatched from her by the sounds of a sword being drawn. She was forced to turn again, and came face to face with end of the steel. She had angered him.

[i]“Stupid whore! I’m going to slit your fucking throat!”[/i] His friend grabbed her hair and pulled it back, exposing her neck to the man, before leaning in. [i]“You’ll meet your pretend gods while I’m still raping your corpse.”[/i]

She did not stop struggling. She desperately tried to elbow the man behind her, fighting furiously to thrust her elbow back, kick him, anything that would cause him to let her go and slip away, to no avail. Najla called for them to let her go, though there was little pleading in her tone. Despite her frantic movements, she hardly sounded afraid. 

She was afraid. Her heart was racing, her eyes wide, and it felt as if there were no thoughts in her mind, nothing to go on but her instinct. Unfortunately for Najla, her instincts seemed desperate to pierce her on the end of a sword.

[i]“Let go of me! Dirty fucking bastards, let go! I’ll cut off any cock you pull out, I swear it!”[/i]

Her threats were meaningless, but she continued to spew them just as the men did insults, and was silenced only briefly when the peasant wielding his sword slapped her sharply, the sound cracking across her face. 

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