itself in a very physical response.”
The Kirabi had to master many different, irritating problems with the various creatures they enslaved. Food and nourishment had never been an issue. All the animals were pleased to note they would not be starved. They were actually fed very well when compared to the existence they had been managing while living among the rocks and on the desert sands.
If the Vastara refused to eat, they would die. Would the women actually starve themselves over this ridiculous complication? Dasheen was not willing to take the chance. “Pass the word. The women will be blindfolded for meals until they stop this nonsense.”
Anali, still being gripped in Masan’s tight fist, glanced over to Sabra. Blindfolded? She had not had her eyes covered since she had been a young girl. It was one way the Vastara taught the gatherers to recognize food.
Masan left the tent with his slave, and he proceeded to inform the other beast riders of Dasheen’s decision. Several men argued, preferring to force their timid slaves to witness them eat. The fear in their slave’s eyes was empowering. None continued their argument against Dasheen’s decision when Masan told them their slave might starve.
Dasheen had regained his seat on the chest, and Sabra stared into the fire. Mother of Life, protect me. Look out for my friends and keep me strong to protect my beliefs.
While the girl watched the flames, Dasheen was also lost in thought. He tried to remember the ancient tale of the Kirabi who had taken a Vastara woman as his slave. The legend said that he forced her to renounce her beliefs. The light left her eyes and speech left her lips. She became a silent shell… beautiful to gaze upon, but dispassionate and empty. This was not the sort of slave Dasheen desired.
It seemed impossible that imaginative, fanciful doctrine could truly be ingrained so deeply that the woman’s mind would unravel. Sabra had many more generations of this irritating system forced upon her. Her mind was sharp, though. Dasheen was certain of this. How can she believe such nonsense?
The ‘how’ was not the bigger problem. What was as equally certain as the girl’s intelligence was the irrefutable knowledge that she did believe in this irrational, spiritual mosaic of complications. It had worked to persuade her to join him on the back of his banta. Her belief that he meant to sacrifice her to the beast had overridden her fear, to an extent.
Dasheen tied a leash to the front of her collar and he looped the other end around a securing cleat on a tent bracer. Their tribe did hold one belief. He would not be allowed to touch her until the leaders proclaimed he was her rightful owner. They were still a week from the southern camp.
Part of the agreement to let Dasheen go on this wild mission was that he collected the plants and vegetation to last until next year. It was a mammoth undertaking, but, with the help of the beast riders who wished to join him, they selected the workers they would need. Only Fistas were chosen for their brawn and efficiency.
Dasheen had finished the harvest within the first week of reaching the meadow. It had been a grueling rush to accomplish the task, and he was relieved they had been rewarded with their captives. The girl was curled up on top of the furs and breathing evenly. Dasheen draped a heavy fur on top of himself. If the girl wished to be covered, the furs were all around her.
He watched the dwindling firelight shine off her hair. He pictured the fear in her green eyes when he spoke to her. He imagined the weight of her bountiful breasts… the soft texture of the skin on her bottom when he spanked her, leaving the imprint of his hand… “By the cold winds of Flagar,” he cursed quietly. His cock was throbbing in need, and he rose and left the tent in search of his Fista.
Masan was stirring the ashes of the center fire, sending bursts of orange sparkles into the sky. “You too?” he laughed.
“I find
The Kirabi had to master many different, irritating problems with the various creatures they enslaved. Food and nourishment had never been an issue. All the animals were pleased to note they would not be starved. They were actually fed very well when compared to the existence they had been managing while living among the rocks and on the desert sands.
If the Vastara refused to eat, they would die. Would the women actually starve themselves over this ridiculous complication? Dasheen was not willing to take the chance. “Pass the word. The women will be blindfolded for meals until they stop this nonsense.”
Anali, still being gripped in Masan’s tight fist, glanced over to Sabra. Blindfolded? She had not had her eyes covered since she had been a young girl. It was one way the Vastara taught the gatherers to recognize food.
Masan left the tent with his slave, and he proceeded to inform the other beast riders of Dasheen’s decision. Several men argued, preferring to force their timid slaves to witness them eat. The fear in their slave’s eyes was empowering. None continued their argument against Dasheen’s decision when Masan told them their slave might starve.
Dasheen had regained his seat on the chest, and Sabra stared into the fire. Mother of Life, protect me. Look out for my friends and keep me strong to protect my beliefs.
While the girl watched the flames, Dasheen was also lost in thought. He tried to remember the ancient tale of the Kirabi who had taken a Vastara woman as his slave. The legend said that he forced her to renounce her beliefs. The light left her eyes and speech left her lips. She became a silent shell… beautiful to gaze upon, but dispassionate and empty. This was not the sort of slave Dasheen desired.
It seemed impossible that imaginative, fanciful doctrine could truly be ingrained so deeply that the woman’s mind would unravel. Sabra had many more generations of this irritating system forced upon her. Her mind was sharp, though. Dasheen was certain of this. How can she believe such nonsense?
The ‘how’ was not the bigger problem. What was as equally certain as the girl’s intelligence was the irrefutable knowledge that she did believe in this irrational, spiritual mosaic of complications. It had worked to persuade her to join him on the back of his banta. Her belief that he meant to sacrifice her to the beast had overridden her fear, to an extent.
Dasheen tied a leash to the front of her collar and he looped the other end around a securing cleat on a tent bracer. Their tribe did hold one belief. He would not be allowed to touch her until the leaders proclaimed he was her rightful owner. They were still a week from the southern camp.
Part of the agreement to let Dasheen go on this wild mission was that he collected the plants and vegetation to last until next year. It was a mammoth undertaking, but, with the help of the beast riders who wished to join him, they selected the workers they would need. Only Fistas were chosen for their brawn and efficiency.
Dasheen had finished the harvest within the first week of reaching the meadow. It had been a grueling rush to accomplish the task, and he was relieved they had been rewarded with their captives. The girl was curled up on top of the furs and breathing evenly. Dasheen draped a heavy fur on top of himself. If the girl wished to be covered, the furs were all around her.
He watched the dwindling firelight shine off her hair. He pictured the fear in her green eyes when he spoke to her. He imagined the weight of her bountiful breasts… the soft texture of the skin on her bottom when he spanked her, leaving the imprint of his hand… “By the cold winds of Flagar,” he cursed quietly. His cock was throbbing in need, and he rose and left the tent in search of his Fista.
Masan was stirring the ashes of the center fire, sending bursts of orange sparkles into the sky. “You too?” he laughed.
“I find
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