[quote=@persianversion] The hope that had brought on by the memory of the quartermaster’s words disappeared instantly at Ketill’s, and she froze as he began to lift his shirt up. Just as soon as her hope had fled, relief struck when he began to speak, his words clearing her fears just before the sound of a cough could. Najla was stunned to turn and see the quartermaster standing in the entrance, though it seemed the woman had not noticed her. It was no new sight for Najla, to see a woman in a high position, though she had not seen many who held anything beyond title in Broacien. She had not seen many in the Sultanate either, but for Najla, who had been raised among the influential women of the Sultan’s court, it hardly seemed that way. To see a female merchant travelling with a camp was a sight to question, however, as these were often conditions that wealthier women, more accustomed to luxuries, were reluctant to subject themselves to willingly. She watched the woman speak to Ketill, apparently no longer intent on keeping her head down. She guessed that this woman would be more reasonable, and not so easily angered at a slave’s curious glace. At least, Najla assumed she was reasonable, for she had stopped Najla’s master from cutting off a piece of his finger. Perhaps I should thank her for it. I’d have to spend the night bandaging a stump if she hadn’t stopped him. Najla did not have long to think on her ‘fortune’ when the woman walked past Ketill, taking her hand. She said nothing, her eyes firmly on the woman as she touched her arm, her pale hand contrasting significantly against Najla’s darker skin. Her touch was gentle, a welcome change from the men who had seen fit to grasp and grab at her bruised arm all day long. Even when she pressed upon her bruise, Najla made no grimace or wince, but she could not stop herself from flinching slightly, as if meaning to pull her arm away. Of course, she would not dare, and relaxed her arm again as Ketill spoke, allowing the woman to examine her bruises thoroughly. She only dropped her arm when the woman, who had now identified herself as Anne, let go, only to grasp her chin. Again, Najla showed no resistance, either in her motions or her expressions, but her eyes did not leave Anne’s. The woman was intriguing to her, and more importantly, it seemed Najla had piqued her interest. It was an interest she did not mind this time, for it seemed Anne had no intention of hurting her, and released her chin to turn back to Ketill. From Anne’s explanation of her actions, Najla noted that she was a clever woman, certainly cleverer than her master. This, in combination with her wealth, apparent by both her position and her clothing, made Najla hope that Anne had indeed been interested in her. She got her wish quickly, it seemed, and regretted it within mere seconds. When Ketill allowed Anne to speak to her, Najla was left frantically guessing the purpose as she examined the bruise, and her fears were not eased when it was given. Nodding in return when asked if she was asked if she was from Sawarim lands, Najla’s gaze flickered over to Ketill, then back to Anne, when she was asked of any trade secrets she knew. For Anne, who likely did not know she was meant to be a merchant’s daughter, it was a harmless and understandable question. For Najla, who was all too aware of Ketill’s presence before them, it was a question that placed her in a precarious position, but she had to answer regardless, careful not to speak on anything she did not know of. [i]“Your people have a great deal, my lady, but the Sawarim have long kept luxuries I have not seen here.” [/i] While Anne’s voice was commanding and clear, Najla spoke in a soft, feminine voice. She did not grow bolder as she spoke to Anne, always polite and demure, and she would always glance away if Anne looked her in the eyes for too long. Even while her voice grew no more confident, she did seem to grow more cheerful as they spoke. Perhaps it was a practiced effort to make Anne feel as if Saina was warming to her, or perhaps it was a genuine reaction to a kinder presence, but she seemed to sit up straighter, speak more, and even offered the woman a few gentle smiles. Najla told Anne of the world she had known. She told her of the thin, richly colored fabrics wealthy Sawarim woman draped themselves in, and the thin rings of gold and silver they would pile upon their bodies. She told her of the oils they rubbed on their bodies, to give off a pleasant scent long after it was applied, and the pigments women applied to their lips. Anne pushed farther on these luxuries, asking where she could buy them cheaply, and Najla answered as best as she could. [i]“The clothing, my lady, you will never obtain cheaply. The women who weave the fabrics are aware of how highly they are valued. As with the jewelry. If you would seek oils, the people of Lakhm will offer them for cheap.”[/i] She had to repeat the name a few times, and smiled brightly when Anne’s pronunciation landed close enough, before explaining briefly how the village was not quite well-known for its cultivation of these flowers, and the name would not count for much in Sawarim markets, but it had enough, and of good quality. It was a useful tidbit, one born out of the fond memory of her favorite cousin offering her a bottle of their oils for her nineteenth birthday. She had teased it for him then, chiding that he was a prince and did not have to settle for a lesser-known oil. If she was ever to see him again, Najla knew she’d have to ask his forgiveness. It took some time, though Najla felt confident when Anne stood to leave, even politely offering her assistance if she had any more questions. She watched as the woman left, only to have her peaceful expression wiped off instantly. ---------------------- She bristled as the Sawarim man walked into the room. His presence had not been a welcome sight in the commander’s tent, and it was far less so now. Any man that would turn his back so far upon the Sawarim to sell Sawarim men to Monarchists, all while renouncing his Gods, was less than a viper in her eyes. His questions to Ketill about her were jarring enough, leaving her little room to be shocked when he turned to her, though his language managed to surprise her regardless. It felt strange, to hear her native tongue after so long. The fact that it was so unpleasant to hear was even stranger, but Najla did not have to try to ignore this. His words were jarring in any language. [i]“Saina-”[/i] She could barely finish her name after his first question, and simply shut her mouth, allowing him to ask questions without her answers. Was one hundred horses really the only price for her freedom? Perhaps to another Sawarim, it would have been a daunting request, but Najla knew that her family would give far more to have her returned. Agreeing to one hundred horses would have been cheating him. Yet she was no fool, his words did not stop, and she knew he wanted more. He was not going to escape an expedition for one slave when he had pledged countless. He was a coward who refused his God, he would not bring his hands upon a Servant. He was a liar. Her disgust had been carefully controlled before, but as he continued, talking to her of an easier life as an entertainer, Najla could no longer keep it off her face. It would be an easier life, he was not lying to her on this, yet it would be spent being passed around by infidels. It was a revolting notion, but nowhere near his next words. [i]Now I can earn money.[/i] These were the words that produced a snarl. Her jaw clenched and her lips curled, her teeth now bared as if she were a beast poised to attack. Despite his knowledge of the language, it would be obvious to both Ketill and the slavemaster that he had angered her, and she made no intention to keep it off her face. The slavedriver had certainly noticed, though it only pulled a wry smile from him. [i]<“So you believe in our Gods? You will not swear off them?”>[/i] Najla shook her head, and the slavedriver continued, apparently amused by this. [i]<“You do not like living then. They treat you very poorly here for your Gods. Tell your master, I will pay for you and take you home, you will live well.”>[/i] [i]<“I don’t understand. Are you offering to free me or buy me?”>[/i] Najla knew the truth, but she wanted to hear him say it. She wanted this creature to tell her that he would buy her if she was poor and lie to her if she were rich, but he would offer her no such victory. [i]<“So you want to go home? I can take you. Who is your family?”>[/i] Najla shook her head. [i]<“We have no horses.”>[/i] The slavemaster did not seem at all fazed by this, stepping closer to Najla. [i]<“Then tell your master you want to work for me. Your life will be easy. Like a sultan’s wife. No more camps or tents, only fine beds, good wine, you will live in comfort.”>[/i] [i]<”My lord, I must refuse.”> [/i] [i]<“You wish to be a Servants whore?">[/i] [i]<”No. My lord, I must refuse.”>[/i] Her voice was strained, ready to break under the weight of a title he did not deserve. Despite all her notions of the Broacieniens as beastly, Najla’s anger was almost feral. The slavemaster did not seem as angry as she was, only a frown appearing on his face at her second reiteration of her refusal. Perhaps, despite her obvious hostility, he thought she could still be convinced. [i]<“My name is Ghalid. Just ask for me if you want to go home.”>.[/i] He turned his back to her, acknowledging Ketill with the barest [i]“Servant”[/i] before ducking out of the tent. Najla punctuated the rustling of the tent flap with a final word, spat out in a tongue Ketill would finally understand. [i]“Animal.”[/i] ------------------ The slow transition of the ground from grass into the open sandy plains had been acting as a marker for Najla, as she could hardly wait for the day when she saw her beloved expanses again. They had been treacherous before, teeming with raiders, Servants, and slavers alike, yet scarce in the resources required to maintain travel. They were moving out of friendly territory for the expedition now, and Najla knew what a liability that would create for the expedition moving ahead. They’d have to watch their routes carefully, she knew that any misstep meant stretches without water. The borders of the sultanate were littered with the bones of men dead of thirst. As such, Najla assumed they’d be stopping in Coedwin. It was a thought that unnerved her slightly, to be surrounded by Servants, but it was not a notion that worried her as much anymore. Ketill had never touched her on the journey, and his defense of her meant that others were wary of doing the same. They did not like her, every journey out into the camp to accomplish a task was meant with enough stares and slurs to prove it a hundred times over. It hardly mattered, Najla did not like them either, and so long as they did not harm her, it was of little consequence. Their stares had not been enough to stop her from moving about the camp, and she slowly began to mingle among the slaves and camp followers somewhat. The camp followers were mostly from Broacien, and held little that Najla would want. Among the slaves however, she had met a girl not much younger than her, a Sawarim girl brought up from the Sultanate. She had been kind to Najla, and had often aided Najla in little ways here and there, though more than anything the girl had seemed grateful for a friend. [hider=Qamar] [img]http://i.imgur.com/uPKlCxX.jpg[/img] [/hider] She was a lovely girl named Qamar, brought along as an entertainer. It was for this reason that Najla had continued to develop something of a friendship with her, not for her talents, but for her past. The claim had been that Qamar used to belong to a Prince of the Sultanate, but upon questioning further, the girl had revealed it had been an exaggeration. [i]“Not to a prince specifically, no.”[/i] The girl had replied, laughing. [i]“I worked in the household, and was sold off after-”[/i] She had stopped there, but Najla knew. The entertainers of the Sultan’s court were sold and bought frequently by the heads of the household, only the favorites were kept on for long. Likely for Qamar, it meant she had lost the most comfortable life she’d ever know, but for Najla it was a blessing, as it meant the girl did not recognize her face. She had heard her name before, and had mentioned that she had been in the Sultan’s court when Najla and Jalil vanished, but only briefly and without any indication that she knew her. The pair could not speak often, but Najla often tried to find her among the slaves, and asked her of her time in the Sultan’s court with wide eyes. Qamar was always happy to oblige, telling her of the luxuries they could only dream of now, the stories of the entertainers there, and often the gossip regarding the Sultan’s family. This is what Najla craved more than anything, and even a simple tidbit about how the little Prince Lahan fell off his horse while riding was enough to fulfill her. The stories that Qamar told her were nearly all that Najla thought about when she was riding now. She would wished she could have seen these stories, to be a part of them as she was meant to be, to see the women kissing his bruises and stroking his hair while her cousins and brothers teased little spoiled Lahan. It was a driving force, and Najla was eager to get to Coedwin, to perhaps speak to the Sawarim slaves within those walls, to hear more that Qamar could not tell her. She’d never be able to get a message to her family from Coedwin, Najla knew, she’d have to be patient and wait. The stories would be enough until then. [/quote]