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The Zaire tribe had been much of what Neena had come to expect from their reputation among the other tribes. Though she had never encountered a member of this specific tribe - they spent too much time in the Southern sands of the desert for her to have crossed paths with them on her own travels around the coast - Neena had heard much of the calm, philosophical people. Thinkers by nature and healers by trade. Upon arriving in the tribe with a small group of other slaves bought in trade with the Somalu, Neena had been surprised to find the tribe as... casual... as the others. Somehow, the idea of philosophy and highbrow thinking had constructed the stereotype in her mind that the Zaire people would be more... arrogant, high handed and aloof... She had (foolishly, it would seem) linked philosophy with academia; expecting the members of the tribe to be more worldly, more influenced by other cultures and their theories on life and the universe around them.
But this was not the case.
Like any other tribe of Bedoa, the Zaire were a people of great community (with those they trusted and knew, of course) and were just as involved in other elements of their life, such as hunting and securing safety for their people. They spent as much time learning with their hands as they did with their heads as any other tribe and didn't lean towards looking down their noses at others. Instead, they simply spent the time they had for leisurely purposes in more communal and helpful activities; like supporting and healing those around them, instead of seeking new ways to fight or trade with others. The core of this tribe was the same as any other - the world around them dictated them to be such - but it was in their personal inclinations and how they spent their time outside of those basic necessities that had garnered their reputation.
As such, the tasks Neena was immediately given upon her arrival with the people had all been tasks she was familiar with. Look after the animals, fetch the water, skin the hunted kills the men brought back, help the women to fix or repair the blankets and hawe fabrics. She had been with the people of the Zaire for nearly a week before she had been assigned any form of duty that came close to the atypical Zaire associations.
"You!" The voice had called, attracting her attention as she finished up securing a new blanket in place for a hawe's doorway; the little lady that lived there hadn't been able to reach high enough to secure it in place and keep her balance on the little mould of sand she had created. "Come here!"
The call wasn't rude or insulting, but it was clearly expected to be obeyed; as was natural and normal when commanding a slave. Neena had simply exhaled slowly and headed over.
"My name is Neena." She told the man with a bright smile that had him blinking for a moment. She had expected him to not care for her name but instead he was polite and friendly back.
"Neena then..." He picked up a large pile of fabric that wasn't used for hawes or flooring. Instead, it was cut into long thin strips of thin and easily twine-able material. "Take these to the healing tent." He told her, holding them out to place them into her now outstretched arms.
Neena took the large pile with a slight puff of air from her lips. It was heavier than it looked.
"Sure." She told the man, as he piled on a second load. Neena felt her knees engage against the weight, her bare feet sinking further into the sands beneath her soles. "Just one thing... Which one is that?"
With a bright and childish grin, plus the flashing of eager eyes - Neena had yet to see inside one of the tents reserved for physicians or viewed any of the special work the Zaire were so famed for - the man instructing her didn't seem able to avoid smiling back before stretching out an arm to the east.
"The one with the purple and red kaftan for a door." He told her. "The big one on the outskirts there."
And he was right that that was where it was situated. Placed several feet away from the edge of the residential hawes, it was clear that the sick were kept apart from the living. Or, perhaps they were just placed there for it was closer to the oasis spring the tribe were currently using as a water source...
Nodding at her orders and hefting the pile more securely into her arms, Neena headed in the appropriate direction, the bundle she carried coming up to her nose but not obscuring her vision. It was hard going in the deep sand and, for once, Neena was thankful that she had no workable shoes at the moment. She would have long lost them or even been tripped up by them twisted underfoot carrying out this particular task...
By the time she arrived at the tent she was a little out of breath but nothing worse than that. A fit girl and used to manual labour and securing her own bread and butter - even before she had been forced back into her role as a slave - Neena was perfectly capable of waiting until one of the women running around told her where to dump her cargo. Instead, she just looked around her.
The hawe was roughly three times the size of even the First Family's tent. It held beds, stacked on little wooden brackets to raise the occupants off the floor and make them easier to treat by the women who moved around from patient to patient. The ladies sank to their knees, tucking their feet beneath their bottoms in order to lean over each patient in turn and administer medicine or bandages (which, Neena belatedly realised, was what she was carrying a fresh supply of). Having spent some time looking after a pain-inflicted invalid, Neena couldn't help but watch in curiosity, moving a few steps sideways so that she wasn't in the way of the open flap door. She simply stood and witnessed, her eyes wide with wonder and her arms full of fabric.
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Aug 27, 2019 22:51:54 GMT
Posted In Journey's End on Aug 27, 2019 22:51:54 GMT
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The Zaire tribe had been much of what Neena had come to expect from their reputation among the other tribes. Though she had never encountered a member of this specific tribe - they spent too much time in the Southern sands of the desert for her to have crossed paths with them on her own travels around the coast - Neena had heard much of the calm, philosophical people. Thinkers by nature and healers by trade. Upon arriving in the tribe with a small group of other slaves bought in trade with the Somalu, Neena had been surprised to find the tribe as... casual... as the others. Somehow, the idea of philosophy and highbrow thinking had constructed the stereotype in her mind that the Zaire people would be more... arrogant, high handed and aloof... She had (foolishly, it would seem) linked philosophy with academia; expecting the members of the tribe to be more worldly, more influenced by other cultures and their theories on life and the universe around them.
But this was not the case.
Like any other tribe of Bedoa, the Zaire were a people of great community (with those they trusted and knew, of course) and were just as involved in other elements of their life, such as hunting and securing safety for their people. They spent as much time learning with their hands as they did with their heads as any other tribe and didn't lean towards looking down their noses at others. Instead, they simply spent the time they had for leisurely purposes in more communal and helpful activities; like supporting and healing those around them, instead of seeking new ways to fight or trade with others. The core of this tribe was the same as any other - the world around them dictated them to be such - but it was in their personal inclinations and how they spent their time outside of those basic necessities that had garnered their reputation.
As such, the tasks Neena was immediately given upon her arrival with the people had all been tasks she was familiar with. Look after the animals, fetch the water, skin the hunted kills the men brought back, help the women to fix or repair the blankets and hawe fabrics. She had been with the people of the Zaire for nearly a week before she had been assigned any form of duty that came close to the atypical Zaire associations.
"You!" The voice had called, attracting her attention as she finished up securing a new blanket in place for a hawe's doorway; the little lady that lived there hadn't been able to reach high enough to secure it in place and keep her balance on the little mould of sand she had created. "Come here!"
The call wasn't rude or insulting, but it was clearly expected to be obeyed; as was natural and normal when commanding a slave. Neena had simply exhaled slowly and headed over.
"My name is Neena." She told the man with a bright smile that had him blinking for a moment. She had expected him to not care for her name but instead he was polite and friendly back.
"Neena then..." He picked up a large pile of fabric that wasn't used for hawes or flooring. Instead, it was cut into long thin strips of thin and easily twine-able material. "Take these to the healing tent." He told her, holding them out to place them into her now outstretched arms.
Neena took the large pile with a slight puff of air from her lips. It was heavier than it looked.
"Sure." She told the man, as he piled on a second load. Neena felt her knees engage against the weight, her bare feet sinking further into the sands beneath her soles. "Just one thing... Which one is that?"
With a bright and childish grin, plus the flashing of eager eyes - Neena had yet to see inside one of the tents reserved for physicians or viewed any of the special work the Zaire were so famed for - the man instructing her didn't seem able to avoid smiling back before stretching out an arm to the east.
"The one with the purple and red kaftan for a door." He told her. "The big one on the outskirts there."
And he was right that that was where it was situated. Placed several feet away from the edge of the residential hawes, it was clear that the sick were kept apart from the living. Or, perhaps they were just placed there for it was closer to the oasis spring the tribe were currently using as a water source...
Nodding at her orders and hefting the pile more securely into her arms, Neena headed in the appropriate direction, the bundle she carried coming up to her nose but not obscuring her vision. It was hard going in the deep sand and, for once, Neena was thankful that she had no workable shoes at the moment. She would have long lost them or even been tripped up by them twisted underfoot carrying out this particular task...
By the time she arrived at the tent she was a little out of breath but nothing worse than that. A fit girl and used to manual labour and securing her own bread and butter - even before she had been forced back into her role as a slave - Neena was perfectly capable of waiting until one of the women running around told her where to dump her cargo. Instead, she just looked around her.
The hawe was roughly three times the size of even the First Family's tent. It held beds, stacked on little wooden brackets to raise the occupants off the floor and make them easier to treat by the women who moved around from patient to patient. The ladies sank to their knees, tucking their feet beneath their bottoms in order to lean over each patient in turn and administer medicine or bandages (which, Neena belatedly realised, was what she was carrying a fresh supply of). Having spent some time looking after a pain-inflicted invalid, Neena couldn't help but watch in curiosity, moving a few steps sideways so that she wasn't in the way of the open flap door. She simply stood and witnessed, her eyes wide with wonder and her arms full of fabric.
The Zaire tribe had been much of what Neena had come to expect from their reputation among the other tribes. Though she had never encountered a member of this specific tribe - they spent too much time in the Southern sands of the desert for her to have crossed paths with them on her own travels around the coast - Neena had heard much of the calm, philosophical people. Thinkers by nature and healers by trade. Upon arriving in the tribe with a small group of other slaves bought in trade with the Somalu, Neena had been surprised to find the tribe as... casual... as the others. Somehow, the idea of philosophy and highbrow thinking had constructed the stereotype in her mind that the Zaire people would be more... arrogant, high handed and aloof... She had (foolishly, it would seem) linked philosophy with academia; expecting the members of the tribe to be more worldly, more influenced by other cultures and their theories on life and the universe around them.
But this was not the case.
Like any other tribe of Bedoa, the Zaire were a people of great community (with those they trusted and knew, of course) and were just as involved in other elements of their life, such as hunting and securing safety for their people. They spent as much time learning with their hands as they did with their heads as any other tribe and didn't lean towards looking down their noses at others. Instead, they simply spent the time they had for leisurely purposes in more communal and helpful activities; like supporting and healing those around them, instead of seeking new ways to fight or trade with others. The core of this tribe was the same as any other - the world around them dictated them to be such - but it was in their personal inclinations and how they spent their time outside of those basic necessities that had garnered their reputation.
As such, the tasks Neena was immediately given upon her arrival with the people had all been tasks she was familiar with. Look after the animals, fetch the water, skin the hunted kills the men brought back, help the women to fix or repair the blankets and hawe fabrics. She had been with the people of the Zaire for nearly a week before she had been assigned any form of duty that came close to the atypical Zaire associations.
"You!" The voice had called, attracting her attention as she finished up securing a new blanket in place for a hawe's doorway; the little lady that lived there hadn't been able to reach high enough to secure it in place and keep her balance on the little mould of sand she had created. "Come here!"
The call wasn't rude or insulting, but it was clearly expected to be obeyed; as was natural and normal when commanding a slave. Neena had simply exhaled slowly and headed over.
"My name is Neena." She told the man with a bright smile that had him blinking for a moment. She had expected him to not care for her name but instead he was polite and friendly back.
"Neena then..." He picked up a large pile of fabric that wasn't used for hawes or flooring. Instead, it was cut into long thin strips of thin and easily twine-able material. "Take these to the healing tent." He told her, holding them out to place them into her now outstretched arms.
Neena took the large pile with a slight puff of air from her lips. It was heavier than it looked.
"Sure." She told the man, as he piled on a second load. Neena felt her knees engage against the weight, her bare feet sinking further into the sands beneath her soles. "Just one thing... Which one is that?"
With a bright and childish grin, plus the flashing of eager eyes - Neena had yet to see inside one of the tents reserved for physicians or viewed any of the special work the Zaire were so famed for - the man instructing her didn't seem able to avoid smiling back before stretching out an arm to the east.
"The one with the purple and red kaftan for a door." He told her. "The big one on the outskirts there."
And he was right that that was where it was situated. Placed several feet away from the edge of the residential hawes, it was clear that the sick were kept apart from the living. Or, perhaps they were just placed there for it was closer to the oasis spring the tribe were currently using as a water source...
Nodding at her orders and hefting the pile more securely into her arms, Neena headed in the appropriate direction, the bundle she carried coming up to her nose but not obscuring her vision. It was hard going in the deep sand and, for once, Neena was thankful that she had no workable shoes at the moment. She would have long lost them or even been tripped up by them twisted underfoot carrying out this particular task...
By the time she arrived at the tent she was a little out of breath but nothing worse than that. A fit girl and used to manual labour and securing her own bread and butter - even before she had been forced back into her role as a slave - Neena was perfectly capable of waiting until one of the women running around told her where to dump her cargo. Instead, she just looked around her.
The hawe was roughly three times the size of even the First Family's tent. It held beds, stacked on little wooden brackets to raise the occupants off the floor and make them easier to treat by the women who moved around from patient to patient. The ladies sank to their knees, tucking their feet beneath their bottoms in order to lean over each patient in turn and administer medicine or bandages (which, Neena belatedly realised, was what she was carrying a fresh supply of). Having spent some time looking after a pain-inflicted invalid, Neena couldn't help but watch in curiosity, moving a few steps sideways so that she wasn't in the way of the open flap door. She simply stood and witnessed, her eyes wide with wonder and her arms full of fabric.
“Oh, good!” Tanishe smiled at Neena as she entered the tent. “We needed these.” She looked at Neena’s face straight away. All she had was a vague impression of a woman holding bandages, but at the moment, that was all she was focused on. With a light touch on Neena’s elbow, she pointed. “This way. I want you to set these here.”
Near the center of the tent, there was a gap in the ceiling for smoke to filter out into the sky. A basin-like, shallow pit had been dug and coals glowed underneath a huge pot that was currently bubbling away. The pot was manned by an older woman with streaks of gray in her braided hair, stirring it, with eyes watering at the fumes issuing up from the liquid. Beside the cauldron, far enough to keep away from the heat of the fire, was a light wooden cabinet. Such a thing was precious indeed and had already been around for at least a generation. Since trees were so very rare, not many of the Zaire had any word working skills of any kind. That made furniture valuable. This one was a lacquered cabinet that someone had traded an Egyptian for and it was in here that they stored certain supplies as well as strips of linen.
Tanishe took a handful from Neena’s arms and led the way to the cabinet. “We put those in here,” she said. Her perfect teeth made her smile gorgeous whenever she used it, and she aimed it at Neena now, being friendly. This girl was a stranger to her, but her face was open and she looked like she had the kind of disposition that Tashine loved most; those open to laughing. Often times, she’d found that when someone was too serious or self important, they tended to make themselves sicker, or infect the inner spirit of those around them. She felt that when someone was willing to be light and free, their spirit would be too. In turn, this healed the body; a thing she always hoped for with her patients.
“I know you will be careful and never drop these linens,” she said as she held out her hand for another few bundles to store them away. “I do not like to place dirty linens on anyone’s wounds. If these are dropped, then they will need to be washed.” In a gentle tone, she said with a small smile, “And you would be the one responsible for doing that. But,” she moved on. “That won’t happen, I think. You look sensible to me.”
After the linens were stored, Tanishe offered the girl another smile and loosely crossed her arms in a self hug. “I’m Tanishe, wife of the Leier. I’ve never seen you before…?” She knew that Neena must be one of the new slaves that they’d acquired but, as she never had anything to do with those either bought or sold, she hadn’t met her before now. “Where did you come from?” she asked, once she knew the girl’s name.
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Sept 11, 2019 23:10:37 GMT
Posted In Journey's End on Sept 11, 2019 23:10:37 GMT
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“Oh, good!” Tanishe smiled at Neena as she entered the tent. “We needed these.” She looked at Neena’s face straight away. All she had was a vague impression of a woman holding bandages, but at the moment, that was all she was focused on. With a light touch on Neena’s elbow, she pointed. “This way. I want you to set these here.”
Near the center of the tent, there was a gap in the ceiling for smoke to filter out into the sky. A basin-like, shallow pit had been dug and coals glowed underneath a huge pot that was currently bubbling away. The pot was manned by an older woman with streaks of gray in her braided hair, stirring it, with eyes watering at the fumes issuing up from the liquid. Beside the cauldron, far enough to keep away from the heat of the fire, was a light wooden cabinet. Such a thing was precious indeed and had already been around for at least a generation. Since trees were so very rare, not many of the Zaire had any word working skills of any kind. That made furniture valuable. This one was a lacquered cabinet that someone had traded an Egyptian for and it was in here that they stored certain supplies as well as strips of linen.
Tanishe took a handful from Neena’s arms and led the way to the cabinet. “We put those in here,” she said. Her perfect teeth made her smile gorgeous whenever she used it, and she aimed it at Neena now, being friendly. This girl was a stranger to her, but her face was open and she looked like she had the kind of disposition that Tashine loved most; those open to laughing. Often times, she’d found that when someone was too serious or self important, they tended to make themselves sicker, or infect the inner spirit of those around them. She felt that when someone was willing to be light and free, their spirit would be too. In turn, this healed the body; a thing she always hoped for with her patients.
“I know you will be careful and never drop these linens,” she said as she held out her hand for another few bundles to store them away. “I do not like to place dirty linens on anyone’s wounds. If these are dropped, then they will need to be washed.” In a gentle tone, she said with a small smile, “And you would be the one responsible for doing that. But,” she moved on. “That won’t happen, I think. You look sensible to me.”
After the linens were stored, Tanishe offered the girl another smile and loosely crossed her arms in a self hug. “I’m Tanishe, wife of the Leier. I’ve never seen you before…?” She knew that Neena must be one of the new slaves that they’d acquired but, as she never had anything to do with those either bought or sold, she hadn’t met her before now. “Where did you come from?” she asked, once she knew the girl’s name.
“Oh, good!” Tanishe smiled at Neena as she entered the tent. “We needed these.” She looked at Neena’s face straight away. All she had was a vague impression of a woman holding bandages, but at the moment, that was all she was focused on. With a light touch on Neena’s elbow, she pointed. “This way. I want you to set these here.”
Near the center of the tent, there was a gap in the ceiling for smoke to filter out into the sky. A basin-like, shallow pit had been dug and coals glowed underneath a huge pot that was currently bubbling away. The pot was manned by an older woman with streaks of gray in her braided hair, stirring it, with eyes watering at the fumes issuing up from the liquid. Beside the cauldron, far enough to keep away from the heat of the fire, was a light wooden cabinet. Such a thing was precious indeed and had already been around for at least a generation. Since trees were so very rare, not many of the Zaire had any word working skills of any kind. That made furniture valuable. This one was a lacquered cabinet that someone had traded an Egyptian for and it was in here that they stored certain supplies as well as strips of linen.
Tanishe took a handful from Neena’s arms and led the way to the cabinet. “We put those in here,” she said. Her perfect teeth made her smile gorgeous whenever she used it, and she aimed it at Neena now, being friendly. This girl was a stranger to her, but her face was open and she looked like she had the kind of disposition that Tashine loved most; those open to laughing. Often times, she’d found that when someone was too serious or self important, they tended to make themselves sicker, or infect the inner spirit of those around them. She felt that when someone was willing to be light and free, their spirit would be too. In turn, this healed the body; a thing she always hoped for with her patients.
“I know you will be careful and never drop these linens,” she said as she held out her hand for another few bundles to store them away. “I do not like to place dirty linens on anyone’s wounds. If these are dropped, then they will need to be washed.” In a gentle tone, she said with a small smile, “And you would be the one responsible for doing that. But,” she moved on. “That won’t happen, I think. You look sensible to me.”
After the linens were stored, Tanishe offered the girl another smile and loosely crossed her arms in a self hug. “I’m Tanishe, wife of the Leier. I’ve never seen you before…?” She knew that Neena must be one of the new slaves that they’d acquired but, as she never had anything to do with those either bought or sold, she hadn’t met her before now. “Where did you come from?” she asked, once she knew the girl’s name.
Neena was not a good slave. This had been remarked upon by many - including herself. She disliked being treated like an inferior simply through a moment of her life that was dictated as a crime by a social structure she did not conform to. She also disliked being ordered about as if she had no will or thought of her own. Ergo, she was quite often that horrible form of annoying where she obeyed either just enough or to the very fine letter that didn't produce the exact results her instructor was looking for. It was her own little rebellion and determination not to allow herself to become used to a way of life that identified her as subservient; to obey in a manner that was frustrating but not technically wrong so that the master in question found it difficult to issue a punishment with appropriate cause. The irritation she read coming off such people in waves or vibes was enough to keep her spirit free and her heart independent.
When she entered the healing tent, however, this was not the manner in which she was addressed.
The first words out of the pretty woman who came forward were that of gratitude and relief - like Neena had performed a service that was valued and that she was grateful for. Despite not actually saying thank you (as she would not need to, to a slave), it was the closest to such a thing as Neena had experienced since arriving with the Zaire. Aside from Hasani carrying that washing load the other day...
As such, she followed the woman's directions with care and consideration, not minding the light touch to her elbow, for she was a fairly physical person herself, and was drawn towards a cabinet that was rare as a form of furniture in the Zaire. Not only because the wood required for such work was rarely found in the Sahara but also because bulky items like this were hard to transport. A nomadic tribe rarely used them unless they were important in some way. The woman's explanation for keeping the linens clean was quick to identify the worth of the piece despite it likely being cumbersome to travel with.
Standing as she was needed and allowing the woman to take the linens from her - the two of them working as a team - Neena felt her hackles rise a little as the woman spoke to her with determined instructions as if she were a little dense (then again, born slaves had little education and were perhaps just so).
'That won’t happen, I think. You look sensible to me.'
Neena nodded to indicate she understood the instructions and responded with complete candour-
"Plus, I hate washing." Which meant she would indeed be very careful not to drop anything.
When the young woman - a little older than Neena perhaps - identified herself as Tanishe, wife to Hasani, the connection clicked into place. This was the woman that Hasani had pledged to love so devotedly and enjoyed ruling beside. Of that, she was not surprised. The both of them seemed to exude a sense of practicality and friendliness that Neena found appealing and easy to relax around.
Offering a nod of greeting, Neena - as was her way - offered no formal title or polite greeting of rank and instead went straight for the woman's name. Despite this likely being considered rude by many, the bright smile and friendly demeanour she offered, with her hands loosely linked behind her back, showed a sincerity and lack of insult, despite the break with protocol. As far as Neena was concerned, the woman had given her name. And so, she would use her name.
"Pleasure to meet you Tanishe. I am Neena."
She gave no other title, connection or history to her name - stating herself simply as she was. Neena. Meaning 'mighty'. She didn't identify as anything else: part of a tribe, as a slave or as an individual. Neena was who she was and all she was was Neena.
When the woman went on to ask where she was from, Neena answered her simply, stepping aside to allow a young woman with a little boy to come further into the tent and towards a little pallet bed laid out to their left. Her eyes were bright, her smile stretching broader and her head tilted as one shoulder lifted in a nonchalant gesture of mystery.
"Everywhere."
Before the two of them could exchange more, there was a bustle by the tent's entrance and two men came in, tripping sand over the tapestries and rugs at the edge of the hawe and supporting a young boy - perhaps fourteen or fifteen years of age. One of them as dragging the kid from beneath his arms, whilst the other pressed a brightly coloured kaftan to his side, the fabric more crimson than any other colour.
‘Leierin!’ One of the men called, to attract Tanishe's attention. ‘Quick! It is Kenyan. He was play fighting with Leru and Leru caught him with the blade!’
Neena noticed that the boy known as Kenyan was either passed out or pretty close to it from the lack of blood as he lolled a little lifelessly in his friend's grip, his head like a ragdoll’s.
When the woman in front of her immediately moved across the hawe, past patients and other healers to assess the boy, Neena was on her heels but moving at a slower pace, not wanting to get in the way.
Tanishe had completed her initial assessment of the child by the time Neena appeared at her shoulder.
"Need any help?" She asked, holding up her palms to offer another set of hands in treating the injured Zaire.
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Sept 14, 2019 11:25:49 GMT
Posted In Journey's End on Sept 14, 2019 11:25:49 GMT
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Neena was not a good slave. This had been remarked upon by many - including herself. She disliked being treated like an inferior simply through a moment of her life that was dictated as a crime by a social structure she did not conform to. She also disliked being ordered about as if she had no will or thought of her own. Ergo, she was quite often that horrible form of annoying where she obeyed either just enough or to the very fine letter that didn't produce the exact results her instructor was looking for. It was her own little rebellion and determination not to allow herself to become used to a way of life that identified her as subservient; to obey in a manner that was frustrating but not technically wrong so that the master in question found it difficult to issue a punishment with appropriate cause. The irritation she read coming off such people in waves or vibes was enough to keep her spirit free and her heart independent.
When she entered the healing tent, however, this was not the manner in which she was addressed.
The first words out of the pretty woman who came forward were that of gratitude and relief - like Neena had performed a service that was valued and that she was grateful for. Despite not actually saying thank you (as she would not need to, to a slave), it was the closest to such a thing as Neena had experienced since arriving with the Zaire. Aside from Hasani carrying that washing load the other day...
As such, she followed the woman's directions with care and consideration, not minding the light touch to her elbow, for she was a fairly physical person herself, and was drawn towards a cabinet that was rare as a form of furniture in the Zaire. Not only because the wood required for such work was rarely found in the Sahara but also because bulky items like this were hard to transport. A nomadic tribe rarely used them unless they were important in some way. The woman's explanation for keeping the linens clean was quick to identify the worth of the piece despite it likely being cumbersome to travel with.
Standing as she was needed and allowing the woman to take the linens from her - the two of them working as a team - Neena felt her hackles rise a little as the woman spoke to her with determined instructions as if she were a little dense (then again, born slaves had little education and were perhaps just so).
'That won’t happen, I think. You look sensible to me.'
Neena nodded to indicate she understood the instructions and responded with complete candour-
"Plus, I hate washing." Which meant she would indeed be very careful not to drop anything.
When the young woman - a little older than Neena perhaps - identified herself as Tanishe, wife to Hasani, the connection clicked into place. This was the woman that Hasani had pledged to love so devotedly and enjoyed ruling beside. Of that, she was not surprised. The both of them seemed to exude a sense of practicality and friendliness that Neena found appealing and easy to relax around.
Offering a nod of greeting, Neena - as was her way - offered no formal title or polite greeting of rank and instead went straight for the woman's name. Despite this likely being considered rude by many, the bright smile and friendly demeanour she offered, with her hands loosely linked behind her back, showed a sincerity and lack of insult, despite the break with protocol. As far as Neena was concerned, the woman had given her name. And so, she would use her name.
"Pleasure to meet you Tanishe. I am Neena."
She gave no other title, connection or history to her name - stating herself simply as she was. Neena. Meaning 'mighty'. She didn't identify as anything else: part of a tribe, as a slave or as an individual. Neena was who she was and all she was was Neena.
When the woman went on to ask where she was from, Neena answered her simply, stepping aside to allow a young woman with a little boy to come further into the tent and towards a little pallet bed laid out to their left. Her eyes were bright, her smile stretching broader and her head tilted as one shoulder lifted in a nonchalant gesture of mystery.
"Everywhere."
Before the two of them could exchange more, there was a bustle by the tent's entrance and two men came in, tripping sand over the tapestries and rugs at the edge of the hawe and supporting a young boy - perhaps fourteen or fifteen years of age. One of them as dragging the kid from beneath his arms, whilst the other pressed a brightly coloured kaftan to his side, the fabric more crimson than any other colour.
‘Leierin!’ One of the men called, to attract Tanishe's attention. ‘Quick! It is Kenyan. He was play fighting with Leru and Leru caught him with the blade!’
Neena noticed that the boy known as Kenyan was either passed out or pretty close to it from the lack of blood as he lolled a little lifelessly in his friend's grip, his head like a ragdoll’s.
When the woman in front of her immediately moved across the hawe, past patients and other healers to assess the boy, Neena was on her heels but moving at a slower pace, not wanting to get in the way.
Tanishe had completed her initial assessment of the child by the time Neena appeared at her shoulder.
"Need any help?" She asked, holding up her palms to offer another set of hands in treating the injured Zaire.
Neena was not a good slave. This had been remarked upon by many - including herself. She disliked being treated like an inferior simply through a moment of her life that was dictated as a crime by a social structure she did not conform to. She also disliked being ordered about as if she had no will or thought of her own. Ergo, she was quite often that horrible form of annoying where she obeyed either just enough or to the very fine letter that didn't produce the exact results her instructor was looking for. It was her own little rebellion and determination not to allow herself to become used to a way of life that identified her as subservient; to obey in a manner that was frustrating but not technically wrong so that the master in question found it difficult to issue a punishment with appropriate cause. The irritation she read coming off such people in waves or vibes was enough to keep her spirit free and her heart independent.
When she entered the healing tent, however, this was not the manner in which she was addressed.
The first words out of the pretty woman who came forward were that of gratitude and relief - like Neena had performed a service that was valued and that she was grateful for. Despite not actually saying thank you (as she would not need to, to a slave), it was the closest to such a thing as Neena had experienced since arriving with the Zaire. Aside from Hasani carrying that washing load the other day...
As such, she followed the woman's directions with care and consideration, not minding the light touch to her elbow, for she was a fairly physical person herself, and was drawn towards a cabinet that was rare as a form of furniture in the Zaire. Not only because the wood required for such work was rarely found in the Sahara but also because bulky items like this were hard to transport. A nomadic tribe rarely used them unless they were important in some way. The woman's explanation for keeping the linens clean was quick to identify the worth of the piece despite it likely being cumbersome to travel with.
Standing as she was needed and allowing the woman to take the linens from her - the two of them working as a team - Neena felt her hackles rise a little as the woman spoke to her with determined instructions as if she were a little dense (then again, born slaves had little education and were perhaps just so).
'That won’t happen, I think. You look sensible to me.'
Neena nodded to indicate she understood the instructions and responded with complete candour-
"Plus, I hate washing." Which meant she would indeed be very careful not to drop anything.
When the young woman - a little older than Neena perhaps - identified herself as Tanishe, wife to Hasani, the connection clicked into place. This was the woman that Hasani had pledged to love so devotedly and enjoyed ruling beside. Of that, she was not surprised. The both of them seemed to exude a sense of practicality and friendliness that Neena found appealing and easy to relax around.
Offering a nod of greeting, Neena - as was her way - offered no formal title or polite greeting of rank and instead went straight for the woman's name. Despite this likely being considered rude by many, the bright smile and friendly demeanour she offered, with her hands loosely linked behind her back, showed a sincerity and lack of insult, despite the break with protocol. As far as Neena was concerned, the woman had given her name. And so, she would use her name.
"Pleasure to meet you Tanishe. I am Neena."
She gave no other title, connection or history to her name - stating herself simply as she was. Neena. Meaning 'mighty'. She didn't identify as anything else: part of a tribe, as a slave or as an individual. Neena was who she was and all she was was Neena.
When the woman went on to ask where she was from, Neena answered her simply, stepping aside to allow a young woman with a little boy to come further into the tent and towards a little pallet bed laid out to their left. Her eyes were bright, her smile stretching broader and her head tilted as one shoulder lifted in a nonchalant gesture of mystery.
"Everywhere."
Before the two of them could exchange more, there was a bustle by the tent's entrance and two men came in, tripping sand over the tapestries and rugs at the edge of the hawe and supporting a young boy - perhaps fourteen or fifteen years of age. One of them as dragging the kid from beneath his arms, whilst the other pressed a brightly coloured kaftan to his side, the fabric more crimson than any other colour.
‘Leierin!’ One of the men called, to attract Tanishe's attention. ‘Quick! It is Kenyan. He was play fighting with Leru and Leru caught him with the blade!’
Neena noticed that the boy known as Kenyan was either passed out or pretty close to it from the lack of blood as he lolled a little lifelessly in his friend's grip, his head like a ragdoll’s.
When the woman in front of her immediately moved across the hawe, past patients and other healers to assess the boy, Neena was on her heels but moving at a slower pace, not wanting to get in the way.
Tanishe had completed her initial assessment of the child by the time Neena appeared at her shoulder.
"Need any help?" She asked, holding up her palms to offer another set of hands in treating the injured Zaire.
"Plus, I hate washing."
“That goes without saying,” Tanishe gave a little shrug of her shoulders, still smiling. “I’ve never heard anyone complain about having nothing to wash.” Who wanted to stand over a giant pot of boiling water, stirring it with a paddle, out in the baking sun? No one. It was a thing that must be done periodically, but she couldn’t imagine anyone wanting the back breaking work, face shining with sweat, dress stuck to their chest, slumping against the paddle they used to stir. She’d been born to the family of the Leier and had married one. She’d never once had to do the laundry herself but seeing it was enough to convince her that she never, ever wanted to, either. As kind a person as she was, she’d never volunteered to do a slave’s job for them. Well, not the laundry, anyway.
The conversation moved on smoothly and as it did, Tanishe was struck by the difference in this girl compared to anyone else she’d ever met. There was something so freeing about being in her presence. It was as though she was comprised of the same radiance as the sun, shining and bright and warm. Tanishe had never been so struck by someone before and she found herself wanting to stay near Neena, to find out what would come out of this girl’s mouth next.
“Everywhere?” She wasn’t exactly sure what to make of that. Bedoans traveled extensively, but she took that to mean that Neena had been places that the average Bedoan couldn’t conceive of. Something that she, herself, didn’t have much of an inclination to do. There were stories, of course, of people leaving tribes to strike off into the unknown world but Tanishe found that concept rather anxiety inducing. She’d never entertained that idea, not even in her teenage years when she had the typical bouts of contention with her family that every teenager on the planet had. The thought of leaving the Zaire...well. She didn’t. It wasn’t a thought.
At that moment, the tent flaps were pushed aside and the tent was suddenly a hub of activity. Tanishe moved out of the way but was immediately following, the group as they took Kenyan to a cot. She was not alarmed at the sight of the blood, in that it did not cause a squeezing of her heart or dizziness that some people experienced. What it did for her was wipe the smile off her face and have her turn to Neena. “I need those linens,” she said. “And water.” This was in response to Neena asking if she needed help.
“A knife,” she said to anyone within hearing and held out her hand. As though by magic, one appeared and shut cut away Kenyan’s clothes, exposing the crying wound. She was unsure why the boy was unconscious, unless the pain had made him pass out, or perhaps he’d hit his head somehow. Either way, it served them that he was so still. The wound needed staunched or the bloodloss would be tremendous - more than it already was.
Her hands were red as she accepted the water bowl when it was brought. Without looking up to see who was doing what, she kept her focus on the wound, issuing instructions left and right in a flat voice. “Rag,” she called and one appeared. Her cleaning of the wound was not overly thorough at the moment. What she wanted was to be able to see it for what it was and then she would act from there. The wound itself didn’t look too life threatening but people had died from less. It was a gash, rather than a stab and it was ugly, but had not reached vital organs. Not an attack, in other words.
“Neena,” Tanishe reached out for Neena’s hand. “Press here as hard as you can. We need to stop the bleeding for the moment.” There was a large, thick square of puffy cloth that Tanishe had Neena hold. She then turned and found someone pressing the needle and thread into her hands before she had to ask. A few of the others in the tent had stopped tending to the other patients who were less needy than this one. Instructing Neena to move aside a bit, Tanishe waited for the cloth to be taken away.
The needle she used was a wickedly curved one that looked more like a long fishing hook than a needle. She hooked it through the edge of the boy’s wound, slid it to the other side, and back again, then tied that off and repeated the process, knitting the wound back together in short, efficient little sutures, rather than one long hem like someone would use for clothing. Blood was everywhere and she kept murmuring to Neena that she needed it to be gently sponged away while she worked. At last, the sutures were done and she asked Neena to press a square of linen against the wound again before giving the order to have Kenyan gingerly lifted as she wound strips of linen around the boy’s middle to hold the square in place and tight enough to have a firm pressure on his side. It wasn’t an easy process because Kenyan had to be eased up and then down, all while Neena held the material and Tanishe leaned over and around her to keep wrapping. Once done, she sighed, looked down at the boy.
She turned, seeking somewhere to clean her hands. Sewing a gash like this, long like it was, was always a process. Kenyan was pale now and they would have to pray to the ancestors and spirits for healing. Her attention shifted to Neena to see how she bore this. Sometimes people did well with blood, sometimes they didn’t, but they were both covered up to their wrists and a little above.
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Sept 15, 2019 16:54:57 GMT
Posted In Journey's End on Sept 15, 2019 16:54:57 GMT
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"Plus, I hate washing."
“That goes without saying,” Tanishe gave a little shrug of her shoulders, still smiling. “I’ve never heard anyone complain about having nothing to wash.” Who wanted to stand over a giant pot of boiling water, stirring it with a paddle, out in the baking sun? No one. It was a thing that must be done periodically, but she couldn’t imagine anyone wanting the back breaking work, face shining with sweat, dress stuck to their chest, slumping against the paddle they used to stir. She’d been born to the family of the Leier and had married one. She’d never once had to do the laundry herself but seeing it was enough to convince her that she never, ever wanted to, either. As kind a person as she was, she’d never volunteered to do a slave’s job for them. Well, not the laundry, anyway.
The conversation moved on smoothly and as it did, Tanishe was struck by the difference in this girl compared to anyone else she’d ever met. There was something so freeing about being in her presence. It was as though she was comprised of the same radiance as the sun, shining and bright and warm. Tanishe had never been so struck by someone before and she found herself wanting to stay near Neena, to find out what would come out of this girl’s mouth next.
“Everywhere?” She wasn’t exactly sure what to make of that. Bedoans traveled extensively, but she took that to mean that Neena had been places that the average Bedoan couldn’t conceive of. Something that she, herself, didn’t have much of an inclination to do. There were stories, of course, of people leaving tribes to strike off into the unknown world but Tanishe found that concept rather anxiety inducing. She’d never entertained that idea, not even in her teenage years when she had the typical bouts of contention with her family that every teenager on the planet had. The thought of leaving the Zaire...well. She didn’t. It wasn’t a thought.
At that moment, the tent flaps were pushed aside and the tent was suddenly a hub of activity. Tanishe moved out of the way but was immediately following, the group as they took Kenyan to a cot. She was not alarmed at the sight of the blood, in that it did not cause a squeezing of her heart or dizziness that some people experienced. What it did for her was wipe the smile off her face and have her turn to Neena. “I need those linens,” she said. “And water.” This was in response to Neena asking if she needed help.
“A knife,” she said to anyone within hearing and held out her hand. As though by magic, one appeared and shut cut away Kenyan’s clothes, exposing the crying wound. She was unsure why the boy was unconscious, unless the pain had made him pass out, or perhaps he’d hit his head somehow. Either way, it served them that he was so still. The wound needed staunched or the bloodloss would be tremendous - more than it already was.
Her hands were red as she accepted the water bowl when it was brought. Without looking up to see who was doing what, she kept her focus on the wound, issuing instructions left and right in a flat voice. “Rag,” she called and one appeared. Her cleaning of the wound was not overly thorough at the moment. What she wanted was to be able to see it for what it was and then she would act from there. The wound itself didn’t look too life threatening but people had died from less. It was a gash, rather than a stab and it was ugly, but had not reached vital organs. Not an attack, in other words.
“Neena,” Tanishe reached out for Neena’s hand. “Press here as hard as you can. We need to stop the bleeding for the moment.” There was a large, thick square of puffy cloth that Tanishe had Neena hold. She then turned and found someone pressing the needle and thread into her hands before she had to ask. A few of the others in the tent had stopped tending to the other patients who were less needy than this one. Instructing Neena to move aside a bit, Tanishe waited for the cloth to be taken away.
The needle she used was a wickedly curved one that looked more like a long fishing hook than a needle. She hooked it through the edge of the boy’s wound, slid it to the other side, and back again, then tied that off and repeated the process, knitting the wound back together in short, efficient little sutures, rather than one long hem like someone would use for clothing. Blood was everywhere and she kept murmuring to Neena that she needed it to be gently sponged away while she worked. At last, the sutures were done and she asked Neena to press a square of linen against the wound again before giving the order to have Kenyan gingerly lifted as she wound strips of linen around the boy’s middle to hold the square in place and tight enough to have a firm pressure on his side. It wasn’t an easy process because Kenyan had to be eased up and then down, all while Neena held the material and Tanishe leaned over and around her to keep wrapping. Once done, she sighed, looked down at the boy.
She turned, seeking somewhere to clean her hands. Sewing a gash like this, long like it was, was always a process. Kenyan was pale now and they would have to pray to the ancestors and spirits for healing. Her attention shifted to Neena to see how she bore this. Sometimes people did well with blood, sometimes they didn’t, but they were both covered up to their wrists and a little above.
"Plus, I hate washing."
“That goes without saying,” Tanishe gave a little shrug of her shoulders, still smiling. “I’ve never heard anyone complain about having nothing to wash.” Who wanted to stand over a giant pot of boiling water, stirring it with a paddle, out in the baking sun? No one. It was a thing that must be done periodically, but she couldn’t imagine anyone wanting the back breaking work, face shining with sweat, dress stuck to their chest, slumping against the paddle they used to stir. She’d been born to the family of the Leier and had married one. She’d never once had to do the laundry herself but seeing it was enough to convince her that she never, ever wanted to, either. As kind a person as she was, she’d never volunteered to do a slave’s job for them. Well, not the laundry, anyway.
The conversation moved on smoothly and as it did, Tanishe was struck by the difference in this girl compared to anyone else she’d ever met. There was something so freeing about being in her presence. It was as though she was comprised of the same radiance as the sun, shining and bright and warm. Tanishe had never been so struck by someone before and she found herself wanting to stay near Neena, to find out what would come out of this girl’s mouth next.
“Everywhere?” She wasn’t exactly sure what to make of that. Bedoans traveled extensively, but she took that to mean that Neena had been places that the average Bedoan couldn’t conceive of. Something that she, herself, didn’t have much of an inclination to do. There were stories, of course, of people leaving tribes to strike off into the unknown world but Tanishe found that concept rather anxiety inducing. She’d never entertained that idea, not even in her teenage years when she had the typical bouts of contention with her family that every teenager on the planet had. The thought of leaving the Zaire...well. She didn’t. It wasn’t a thought.
At that moment, the tent flaps were pushed aside and the tent was suddenly a hub of activity. Tanishe moved out of the way but was immediately following, the group as they took Kenyan to a cot. She was not alarmed at the sight of the blood, in that it did not cause a squeezing of her heart or dizziness that some people experienced. What it did for her was wipe the smile off her face and have her turn to Neena. “I need those linens,” she said. “And water.” This was in response to Neena asking if she needed help.
“A knife,” she said to anyone within hearing and held out her hand. As though by magic, one appeared and shut cut away Kenyan’s clothes, exposing the crying wound. She was unsure why the boy was unconscious, unless the pain had made him pass out, or perhaps he’d hit his head somehow. Either way, it served them that he was so still. The wound needed staunched or the bloodloss would be tremendous - more than it already was.
Her hands were red as she accepted the water bowl when it was brought. Without looking up to see who was doing what, she kept her focus on the wound, issuing instructions left and right in a flat voice. “Rag,” she called and one appeared. Her cleaning of the wound was not overly thorough at the moment. What she wanted was to be able to see it for what it was and then she would act from there. The wound itself didn’t look too life threatening but people had died from less. It was a gash, rather than a stab and it was ugly, but had not reached vital organs. Not an attack, in other words.
“Neena,” Tanishe reached out for Neena’s hand. “Press here as hard as you can. We need to stop the bleeding for the moment.” There was a large, thick square of puffy cloth that Tanishe had Neena hold. She then turned and found someone pressing the needle and thread into her hands before she had to ask. A few of the others in the tent had stopped tending to the other patients who were less needy than this one. Instructing Neena to move aside a bit, Tanishe waited for the cloth to be taken away.
The needle she used was a wickedly curved one that looked more like a long fishing hook than a needle. She hooked it through the edge of the boy’s wound, slid it to the other side, and back again, then tied that off and repeated the process, knitting the wound back together in short, efficient little sutures, rather than one long hem like someone would use for clothing. Blood was everywhere and she kept murmuring to Neena that she needed it to be gently sponged away while she worked. At last, the sutures were done and she asked Neena to press a square of linen against the wound again before giving the order to have Kenyan gingerly lifted as she wound strips of linen around the boy’s middle to hold the square in place and tight enough to have a firm pressure on his side. It wasn’t an easy process because Kenyan had to be eased up and then down, all while Neena held the material and Tanishe leaned over and around her to keep wrapping. Once done, she sighed, looked down at the boy.
She turned, seeking somewhere to clean her hands. Sewing a gash like this, long like it was, was always a process. Kenyan was pale now and they would have to pray to the ancestors and spirits for healing. Her attention shifted to Neena to see how she bore this. Sometimes people did well with blood, sometimes they didn’t, but they were both covered up to their wrists and a little above.
It all happened fluidly.
As someone who generally led her life on the easy path, flowing to and fro with the manner of those around her or the circumstances of her position, Neena was used to having life lightly pass around and within her; experienced and enjoyed but never resisted or clung to in order to change its direction or purpose. So, the way in which those ten minutes passed within the healing hawe were fairly normal for her. What she was slightly surprised by, though, was how Tanishe seemed to move with the same elegance of pace. It was clear the woman held more responsibility, more determination to steer eventualities in her preferred direction, but she carved her path with all the delicacy of rolling river.
The Leierin did not instruct people to move out of her way, she simply moved around them, fluid and graceful. When she needed something, she simply held out a hand and asked for it, rather than taking. It was her position and rank that ensured her resources and needs were always fulfilled and then she went back to her tasks. Like a dance in which she was both choreographer and performer. Whilst Neena had only ever played the part of the swirling fabric a dancer might play with - bright, airy and without concern.
There was, however, a period of her life in which Neena had not been so flighty and free. And that had been during her first stint in slavery. Owned by a middle-aged trader who had sought her to heal and look after his ill wife, Neena had several years’ experience in healing and physician work. Whilst she had only ever tended to the one patient, the lady's illness had been unknown and Neena had sought different manners in which to treat it, practicing skills she never knew she was developing in an effort to relieve her pain.
And, if she were scared of blood, she would not have lasted long on the sailing vessel she had grown up on before that. For whilst the sea was a beautiful place to live it could also be dangerous. A slip and fall, a loose rudder, dangerous waters... It could all lead to injuries that bled or killed. She had never been one to be put off by the uglier sides of the human physicality.
As such, when Tanishe was set upon seeing to the young boy who had come in, Neena was perfectly happy to dance about at her side, without issue or complaint. Naturally a giver and permanently hopeful optimist, Neena didn't allow concern or worry to infect her actions as she quickly busied about collecting what she knew Tanishe would need, leaving only a few additional pieces she had not thought of to be grabbed when necessary.
The bowl of water was simple enough, as were the linens which she knew the precise location of now. She also brought with her several of the small folded towers of cloth from the closet that she correctly suspected went beneath the long wrappings to pack the wound.
When she was asked to help clean up the wound of the boy, Neena did so without complaint or issue, the two of them naturally finding a rhythm. Tanishe would sew a stitch and, as she was tying it off, Neena dabbed at the wound, keeping it more or less clean whilst the older woman worked. She didn't need to be told more than once and could assume that Tanishe needed to be able to see what she was doing in able to make the stitches accurate. Common sense, after all.
Using her right hand to mop the wound, Neena used her left to soak a second linen in the water, wringing it out in her tightened fist so that she could replace the mop cloth when needed without interrupting the flow of Tanishe's work. Work which she found absolutely fascinating as the skin was pulled together in a manner similar to how Neena had witnessed Egyptians do it, but with a different pattern of stitching.
When the stitch work was done, Neena was quick to obey and flattened a firm and unyielding hand against the square of cloth, ensuring the wound did not seep between the stitches, as the others were brought in to lift the boy so that linens could be wrapped around his waist.
Tanishe moved close, back and forth, as she wrapped the fabric and Neena caught an interesting contradiction of scents. One was of the coppery and sturdy smell of blood, body and healing... the other was a musky mixture of the smoke burned as incense within the hawes and cooking spices. Like a warrior and a housewife in one, she thought with amusement.
As the linen was wrapped around the young boy's torso, Neena was careful to adjust her footing, as each pass was made, she tilted her shoulder out of the way and moved her hand, shifting to a her finger tips and then moving each finger out of the way in turn, ensuring that pressure was always maintained on the exposed piece of packing but that she didn't get her own digits could up in the bandage.
Once done and the boy was laid to rest, some of the healers hovered to assure themselves he was okay, others looked around as if they had forgotten what they were doing before the excitement had begun. Neena simply went back to the exact same conversation she had been having before.
"Everywhere seems an easier word to choose than to list them." She told Tanishe, as if the last ten minutes had never happened, her conversation and eyes bright. "I've never been in one place longer than a year so there has been much to see."
She picked up the basin of water that was now stained scarlet and seemed to have absolutely no issue - nor notice of the fact that she was bloodied to beyond the elbows. Instead, she simply walked as she talked, clearly assuming that the Leierin would follow her, emptied the dirtied water into a barrel full of equally dark liquid and refilled the shallow basin from the fresh one. She had never been shown the system within the hawe but it didn't take a genius to work out how it had been set up.
Placing the basin balanced on the rim of each, secure between the two, Neena deliberately took one open side of the dish and began to clean up, offering space for Tanishe to do the same.
She behaved with her as if she would an equal and was entirely unaware that a few people had stopped to look their way because of it. Neena treated everyone the same, regardless of rank and, in the same way she had no desire to see herself as inferior due to her current state of slavery, she also had no intention of offering someone else the illusion of superiority because others told her to. Everyone was special. Everyone was important.
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Sept 17, 2019 11:02:18 GMT
Posted In Journey's End on Sept 17, 2019 11:02:18 GMT
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It all happened fluidly.
As someone who generally led her life on the easy path, flowing to and fro with the manner of those around her or the circumstances of her position, Neena was used to having life lightly pass around and within her; experienced and enjoyed but never resisted or clung to in order to change its direction or purpose. So, the way in which those ten minutes passed within the healing hawe were fairly normal for her. What she was slightly surprised by, though, was how Tanishe seemed to move with the same elegance of pace. It was clear the woman held more responsibility, more determination to steer eventualities in her preferred direction, but she carved her path with all the delicacy of rolling river.
The Leierin did not instruct people to move out of her way, she simply moved around them, fluid and graceful. When she needed something, she simply held out a hand and asked for it, rather than taking. It was her position and rank that ensured her resources and needs were always fulfilled and then she went back to her tasks. Like a dance in which she was both choreographer and performer. Whilst Neena had only ever played the part of the swirling fabric a dancer might play with - bright, airy and without concern.
There was, however, a period of her life in which Neena had not been so flighty and free. And that had been during her first stint in slavery. Owned by a middle-aged trader who had sought her to heal and look after his ill wife, Neena had several years’ experience in healing and physician work. Whilst she had only ever tended to the one patient, the lady's illness had been unknown and Neena had sought different manners in which to treat it, practicing skills she never knew she was developing in an effort to relieve her pain.
And, if she were scared of blood, she would not have lasted long on the sailing vessel she had grown up on before that. For whilst the sea was a beautiful place to live it could also be dangerous. A slip and fall, a loose rudder, dangerous waters... It could all lead to injuries that bled or killed. She had never been one to be put off by the uglier sides of the human physicality.
As such, when Tanishe was set upon seeing to the young boy who had come in, Neena was perfectly happy to dance about at her side, without issue or complaint. Naturally a giver and permanently hopeful optimist, Neena didn't allow concern or worry to infect her actions as she quickly busied about collecting what she knew Tanishe would need, leaving only a few additional pieces she had not thought of to be grabbed when necessary.
The bowl of water was simple enough, as were the linens which she knew the precise location of now. She also brought with her several of the small folded towers of cloth from the closet that she correctly suspected went beneath the long wrappings to pack the wound.
When she was asked to help clean up the wound of the boy, Neena did so without complaint or issue, the two of them naturally finding a rhythm. Tanishe would sew a stitch and, as she was tying it off, Neena dabbed at the wound, keeping it more or less clean whilst the older woman worked. She didn't need to be told more than once and could assume that Tanishe needed to be able to see what she was doing in able to make the stitches accurate. Common sense, after all.
Using her right hand to mop the wound, Neena used her left to soak a second linen in the water, wringing it out in her tightened fist so that she could replace the mop cloth when needed without interrupting the flow of Tanishe's work. Work which she found absolutely fascinating as the skin was pulled together in a manner similar to how Neena had witnessed Egyptians do it, but with a different pattern of stitching.
When the stitch work was done, Neena was quick to obey and flattened a firm and unyielding hand against the square of cloth, ensuring the wound did not seep between the stitches, as the others were brought in to lift the boy so that linens could be wrapped around his waist.
Tanishe moved close, back and forth, as she wrapped the fabric and Neena caught an interesting contradiction of scents. One was of the coppery and sturdy smell of blood, body and healing... the other was a musky mixture of the smoke burned as incense within the hawes and cooking spices. Like a warrior and a housewife in one, she thought with amusement.
As the linen was wrapped around the young boy's torso, Neena was careful to adjust her footing, as each pass was made, she tilted her shoulder out of the way and moved her hand, shifting to a her finger tips and then moving each finger out of the way in turn, ensuring that pressure was always maintained on the exposed piece of packing but that she didn't get her own digits could up in the bandage.
Once done and the boy was laid to rest, some of the healers hovered to assure themselves he was okay, others looked around as if they had forgotten what they were doing before the excitement had begun. Neena simply went back to the exact same conversation she had been having before.
"Everywhere seems an easier word to choose than to list them." She told Tanishe, as if the last ten minutes had never happened, her conversation and eyes bright. "I've never been in one place longer than a year so there has been much to see."
She picked up the basin of water that was now stained scarlet and seemed to have absolutely no issue - nor notice of the fact that she was bloodied to beyond the elbows. Instead, she simply walked as she talked, clearly assuming that the Leierin would follow her, emptied the dirtied water into a barrel full of equally dark liquid and refilled the shallow basin from the fresh one. She had never been shown the system within the hawe but it didn't take a genius to work out how it had been set up.
Placing the basin balanced on the rim of each, secure between the two, Neena deliberately took one open side of the dish and began to clean up, offering space for Tanishe to do the same.
She behaved with her as if she would an equal and was entirely unaware that a few people had stopped to look their way because of it. Neena treated everyone the same, regardless of rank and, in the same way she had no desire to see herself as inferior due to her current state of slavery, she also had no intention of offering someone else the illusion of superiority because others told her to. Everyone was special. Everyone was important.
It all happened fluidly.
As someone who generally led her life on the easy path, flowing to and fro with the manner of those around her or the circumstances of her position, Neena was used to having life lightly pass around and within her; experienced and enjoyed but never resisted or clung to in order to change its direction or purpose. So, the way in which those ten minutes passed within the healing hawe were fairly normal for her. What she was slightly surprised by, though, was how Tanishe seemed to move with the same elegance of pace. It was clear the woman held more responsibility, more determination to steer eventualities in her preferred direction, but she carved her path with all the delicacy of rolling river.
The Leierin did not instruct people to move out of her way, she simply moved around them, fluid and graceful. When she needed something, she simply held out a hand and asked for it, rather than taking. It was her position and rank that ensured her resources and needs were always fulfilled and then she went back to her tasks. Like a dance in which she was both choreographer and performer. Whilst Neena had only ever played the part of the swirling fabric a dancer might play with - bright, airy and without concern.
There was, however, a period of her life in which Neena had not been so flighty and free. And that had been during her first stint in slavery. Owned by a middle-aged trader who had sought her to heal and look after his ill wife, Neena had several years’ experience in healing and physician work. Whilst she had only ever tended to the one patient, the lady's illness had been unknown and Neena had sought different manners in which to treat it, practicing skills she never knew she was developing in an effort to relieve her pain.
And, if she were scared of blood, she would not have lasted long on the sailing vessel she had grown up on before that. For whilst the sea was a beautiful place to live it could also be dangerous. A slip and fall, a loose rudder, dangerous waters... It could all lead to injuries that bled or killed. She had never been one to be put off by the uglier sides of the human physicality.
As such, when Tanishe was set upon seeing to the young boy who had come in, Neena was perfectly happy to dance about at her side, without issue or complaint. Naturally a giver and permanently hopeful optimist, Neena didn't allow concern or worry to infect her actions as she quickly busied about collecting what she knew Tanishe would need, leaving only a few additional pieces she had not thought of to be grabbed when necessary.
The bowl of water was simple enough, as were the linens which she knew the precise location of now. She also brought with her several of the small folded towers of cloth from the closet that she correctly suspected went beneath the long wrappings to pack the wound.
When she was asked to help clean up the wound of the boy, Neena did so without complaint or issue, the two of them naturally finding a rhythm. Tanishe would sew a stitch and, as she was tying it off, Neena dabbed at the wound, keeping it more or less clean whilst the older woman worked. She didn't need to be told more than once and could assume that Tanishe needed to be able to see what she was doing in able to make the stitches accurate. Common sense, after all.
Using her right hand to mop the wound, Neena used her left to soak a second linen in the water, wringing it out in her tightened fist so that she could replace the mop cloth when needed without interrupting the flow of Tanishe's work. Work which she found absolutely fascinating as the skin was pulled together in a manner similar to how Neena had witnessed Egyptians do it, but with a different pattern of stitching.
When the stitch work was done, Neena was quick to obey and flattened a firm and unyielding hand against the square of cloth, ensuring the wound did not seep between the stitches, as the others were brought in to lift the boy so that linens could be wrapped around his waist.
Tanishe moved close, back and forth, as she wrapped the fabric and Neena caught an interesting contradiction of scents. One was of the coppery and sturdy smell of blood, body and healing... the other was a musky mixture of the smoke burned as incense within the hawes and cooking spices. Like a warrior and a housewife in one, she thought with amusement.
As the linen was wrapped around the young boy's torso, Neena was careful to adjust her footing, as each pass was made, she tilted her shoulder out of the way and moved her hand, shifting to a her finger tips and then moving each finger out of the way in turn, ensuring that pressure was always maintained on the exposed piece of packing but that she didn't get her own digits could up in the bandage.
Once done and the boy was laid to rest, some of the healers hovered to assure themselves he was okay, others looked around as if they had forgotten what they were doing before the excitement had begun. Neena simply went back to the exact same conversation she had been having before.
"Everywhere seems an easier word to choose than to list them." She told Tanishe, as if the last ten minutes had never happened, her conversation and eyes bright. "I've never been in one place longer than a year so there has been much to see."
She picked up the basin of water that was now stained scarlet and seemed to have absolutely no issue - nor notice of the fact that she was bloodied to beyond the elbows. Instead, she simply walked as she talked, clearly assuming that the Leierin would follow her, emptied the dirtied water into a barrel full of equally dark liquid and refilled the shallow basin from the fresh one. She had never been shown the system within the hawe but it didn't take a genius to work out how it had been set up.
Placing the basin balanced on the rim of each, secure between the two, Neena deliberately took one open side of the dish and began to clean up, offering space for Tanishe to do the same.
She behaved with her as if she would an equal and was entirely unaware that a few people had stopped to look their way because of it. Neena treated everyone the same, regardless of rank and, in the same way she had no desire to see herself as inferior due to her current state of slavery, she also had no intention of offering someone else the illusion of superiority because others told her to. Everyone was special. Everyone was important.
Tanishe watched Neena and floated along behind her. It was like Neena was swimming in a huge ocean and she, Tanishe, was tied to her, tugged along even if she’d wished to go elsewhere. She couldn’t have broken away, couldn’t have done anything but follow and watch this strange girl. There was such an energy about Neena, something she couldn’t name, couldn’t even form thoughts around, but she radiated confidence and something along the lines of security. Like she, herself, was enough.
Tanishe watched without comment as Neena prattled on about never having stayed in one place for over a year, all while dumping water in a barrel and taking water from another. She then followed as Neena set the bowl down on one of the rugs, and knelt to wash her arms. Tanishe’s eyes never left Neena. It was like observing a gazelle. Such a graceful creature but she felt that if she pressed and asked too many questions, or got too close, that Neena might dart away. A worry like that was unnecessary. There probably was nothing on this planet that would scare Neena, but Tanishe had never met anyone like this and didn’t quite know what to make of her.
She watched the blood flooding off Neena’s arms in thin waterfalls of pink. Her eyes followed these water trails into the bowl and she watched the blood curling in the clean water. It writhed in on itself and spiraled, like the blood was made of snakes. Sometimes, she wondered if blood turned into something else when they poured it into the earth. If water carried it away and some animal drank it up. And then when the animal returned to the earth, when a human drank the water that had to have come around in the circle of life, if the sustenance of the spirits all somehow mingled together, human and animal, and merely displayed as snakes in the water, to symbolize their collective togetherness. Other times she let that notion go. It was complicated and she didn’t feel like sharing it with anyone, in case it didn’t make any sense at all.
Neena’s freedom of form and movement, her possession of the bowl, the rags they used to wash themselves, her relaxed state, did not escape Tanishe. This was how she’d been before, when she first came into the tent. Tanishe did not choose to pursue the conversation further for the moment. She chose to focus on the blood under her nails and quietly contemplated what had just happened, the person across from her, and what her own existence meant in light of Neena’s.
Eventually she decided that Neena’s life had nothing to do with her own, in terms of value. Their experiences were simply different, and having stayed in the same tribe all of her life did not make her less. She had a stability that the young woman across from her did not and she was wise enough to decide that comparing two people was about as useful as comparing which wound was better to die from. They’d both kill in the end.
Once her hands and arms were clean, Tanishe stood again, not reaching for the bowl of dirty water. She’d thought nothing of Neena getting it, save for the fact that she hadn’t told her to, and she didn’t even consider dumping it out in the barrel again. Her time in the hawe was at an end and she looked down at Neena.
“Walk with me,” she said and made her way out of the tent into the gathering evening. The pale sky held hints of pink and wispy, translucent clouds of bruised purple. Rubbing her hands on her own arms, she pushed up the fabric a bit, exposing her forearms and her bare wrists. When not in the hawe, she wore several bangles on each side that clinked together whenever she moved. She liked the music they made.
When Neena came out of the tent, she glanced over at her and considered her. “You are a puzzle that I cannot make out,” she said. “Did you swallow the sun? You’re so…” she looked away, sighing within herself because she didn’t want to say ‘bright’ but ended up with that word anyway. “Bright.”
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Sept 19, 2019 21:49:56 GMT
Posted In Journey's End on Sept 19, 2019 21:49:56 GMT
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Tanishe watched Neena and floated along behind her. It was like Neena was swimming in a huge ocean and she, Tanishe, was tied to her, tugged along even if she’d wished to go elsewhere. She couldn’t have broken away, couldn’t have done anything but follow and watch this strange girl. There was such an energy about Neena, something she couldn’t name, couldn’t even form thoughts around, but she radiated confidence and something along the lines of security. Like she, herself, was enough.
Tanishe watched without comment as Neena prattled on about never having stayed in one place for over a year, all while dumping water in a barrel and taking water from another. She then followed as Neena set the bowl down on one of the rugs, and knelt to wash her arms. Tanishe’s eyes never left Neena. It was like observing a gazelle. Such a graceful creature but she felt that if she pressed and asked too many questions, or got too close, that Neena might dart away. A worry like that was unnecessary. There probably was nothing on this planet that would scare Neena, but Tanishe had never met anyone like this and didn’t quite know what to make of her.
She watched the blood flooding off Neena’s arms in thin waterfalls of pink. Her eyes followed these water trails into the bowl and she watched the blood curling in the clean water. It writhed in on itself and spiraled, like the blood was made of snakes. Sometimes, she wondered if blood turned into something else when they poured it into the earth. If water carried it away and some animal drank it up. And then when the animal returned to the earth, when a human drank the water that had to have come around in the circle of life, if the sustenance of the spirits all somehow mingled together, human and animal, and merely displayed as snakes in the water, to symbolize their collective togetherness. Other times she let that notion go. It was complicated and she didn’t feel like sharing it with anyone, in case it didn’t make any sense at all.
Neena’s freedom of form and movement, her possession of the bowl, the rags they used to wash themselves, her relaxed state, did not escape Tanishe. This was how she’d been before, when she first came into the tent. Tanishe did not choose to pursue the conversation further for the moment. She chose to focus on the blood under her nails and quietly contemplated what had just happened, the person across from her, and what her own existence meant in light of Neena’s.
Eventually she decided that Neena’s life had nothing to do with her own, in terms of value. Their experiences were simply different, and having stayed in the same tribe all of her life did not make her less. She had a stability that the young woman across from her did not and she was wise enough to decide that comparing two people was about as useful as comparing which wound was better to die from. They’d both kill in the end.
Once her hands and arms were clean, Tanishe stood again, not reaching for the bowl of dirty water. She’d thought nothing of Neena getting it, save for the fact that she hadn’t told her to, and she didn’t even consider dumping it out in the barrel again. Her time in the hawe was at an end and she looked down at Neena.
“Walk with me,” she said and made her way out of the tent into the gathering evening. The pale sky held hints of pink and wispy, translucent clouds of bruised purple. Rubbing her hands on her own arms, she pushed up the fabric a bit, exposing her forearms and her bare wrists. When not in the hawe, she wore several bangles on each side that clinked together whenever she moved. She liked the music they made.
When Neena came out of the tent, she glanced over at her and considered her. “You are a puzzle that I cannot make out,” she said. “Did you swallow the sun? You’re so…” she looked away, sighing within herself because she didn’t want to say ‘bright’ but ended up with that word anyway. “Bright.”
Tanishe watched Neena and floated along behind her. It was like Neena was swimming in a huge ocean and she, Tanishe, was tied to her, tugged along even if she’d wished to go elsewhere. She couldn’t have broken away, couldn’t have done anything but follow and watch this strange girl. There was such an energy about Neena, something she couldn’t name, couldn’t even form thoughts around, but she radiated confidence and something along the lines of security. Like she, herself, was enough.
Tanishe watched without comment as Neena prattled on about never having stayed in one place for over a year, all while dumping water in a barrel and taking water from another. She then followed as Neena set the bowl down on one of the rugs, and knelt to wash her arms. Tanishe’s eyes never left Neena. It was like observing a gazelle. Such a graceful creature but she felt that if she pressed and asked too many questions, or got too close, that Neena might dart away. A worry like that was unnecessary. There probably was nothing on this planet that would scare Neena, but Tanishe had never met anyone like this and didn’t quite know what to make of her.
She watched the blood flooding off Neena’s arms in thin waterfalls of pink. Her eyes followed these water trails into the bowl and she watched the blood curling in the clean water. It writhed in on itself and spiraled, like the blood was made of snakes. Sometimes, she wondered if blood turned into something else when they poured it into the earth. If water carried it away and some animal drank it up. And then when the animal returned to the earth, when a human drank the water that had to have come around in the circle of life, if the sustenance of the spirits all somehow mingled together, human and animal, and merely displayed as snakes in the water, to symbolize their collective togetherness. Other times she let that notion go. It was complicated and she didn’t feel like sharing it with anyone, in case it didn’t make any sense at all.
Neena’s freedom of form and movement, her possession of the bowl, the rags they used to wash themselves, her relaxed state, did not escape Tanishe. This was how she’d been before, when she first came into the tent. Tanishe did not choose to pursue the conversation further for the moment. She chose to focus on the blood under her nails and quietly contemplated what had just happened, the person across from her, and what her own existence meant in light of Neena’s.
Eventually she decided that Neena’s life had nothing to do with her own, in terms of value. Their experiences were simply different, and having stayed in the same tribe all of her life did not make her less. She had a stability that the young woman across from her did not and she was wise enough to decide that comparing two people was about as useful as comparing which wound was better to die from. They’d both kill in the end.
Once her hands and arms were clean, Tanishe stood again, not reaching for the bowl of dirty water. She’d thought nothing of Neena getting it, save for the fact that she hadn’t told her to, and she didn’t even consider dumping it out in the barrel again. Her time in the hawe was at an end and she looked down at Neena.
“Walk with me,” she said and made her way out of the tent into the gathering evening. The pale sky held hints of pink and wispy, translucent clouds of bruised purple. Rubbing her hands on her own arms, she pushed up the fabric a bit, exposing her forearms and her bare wrists. When not in the hawe, she wore several bangles on each side that clinked together whenever she moved. She liked the music they made.
When Neena came out of the tent, she glanced over at her and considered her. “You are a puzzle that I cannot make out,” she said. “Did you swallow the sun? You’re so…” she looked away, sighing within herself because she didn’t want to say ‘bright’ but ended up with that word anyway. “Bright.”
Neena was quick to act with ration and reason as Tanishe cleaned her arms and the bowl was rendered superfluous. Whilst she was a girl who loved adventure, new experience and a brightness, lightness of existence... Neena was far from frivolous and certainly not vapid. She valued things. She valued her experiences and the people she met and what they cared for.
Like the healing tent. The hawe that the Leierin clearly poured her heart and soul into was worth respecting. It was for that reason - not the fact that she was a slave or had been ordered to carry out the task, for she had not - that Neena disposed of the dirty, bloodied water as she had before and then left the bowl in a small pile of others like it, ready to be used again when needed.
She had been ready to leave the tent, eager to go out and about once more, given she preferred the outdoors to the confines inside a hawe but Tanishe beat her to it and offered an instruction that fell in line with her own desires.
With absolutely no need to balk or resist an order when it worked for what she wished for herself, Neena followed the female leader of the tribe and found herself watching the woman's stable and elegant pace that felt earthy and grounded. The man she had met a few days ago - Hasani. He had had the same sort of walk. It was clear that the two were cut from the same cloth and she found herself smiling at the notion that they were clearly well matched.
When Tanishe turned her own assessing gaze onto Neena, the slave girl was unperturbed. With a history of trying to attract attention on street corners as a dancer or trader, there wasn't a bone in Neena's body that was shy or insecure. Perhaps that was where the brightness or confidence that Tanishe had observed came from.
With a laugh, Neena grinned brightly at the woman whom she was rapidly considering to be someone she could respect and possibly like.
"That's possibly the nicest compliment I've ever gotten." She said. Then she waved a hand dismissively at the woman and gave her a sidelong look. "But don't be too wonderful to me, I'll get a big head."
She then looked around at the Tanishe, feeling as if she should return the compliment. Not one to say things just because she should, though, Neena spoke only words of truth.
"If I'm the sun then you're the ocean." She told her lightly and without much thought - pure instinct. "Does anything phase you or are you permanently unflappable?"
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Sept 20, 2019 19:49:27 GMT
Posted In Journey's End on Sept 20, 2019 19:49:27 GMT
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Neena was quick to act with ration and reason as Tanishe cleaned her arms and the bowl was rendered superfluous. Whilst she was a girl who loved adventure, new experience and a brightness, lightness of existence... Neena was far from frivolous and certainly not vapid. She valued things. She valued her experiences and the people she met and what they cared for.
Like the healing tent. The hawe that the Leierin clearly poured her heart and soul into was worth respecting. It was for that reason - not the fact that she was a slave or had been ordered to carry out the task, for she had not - that Neena disposed of the dirty, bloodied water as she had before and then left the bowl in a small pile of others like it, ready to be used again when needed.
She had been ready to leave the tent, eager to go out and about once more, given she preferred the outdoors to the confines inside a hawe but Tanishe beat her to it and offered an instruction that fell in line with her own desires.
With absolutely no need to balk or resist an order when it worked for what she wished for herself, Neena followed the female leader of the tribe and found herself watching the woman's stable and elegant pace that felt earthy and grounded. The man she had met a few days ago - Hasani. He had had the same sort of walk. It was clear that the two were cut from the same cloth and she found herself smiling at the notion that they were clearly well matched.
When Tanishe turned her own assessing gaze onto Neena, the slave girl was unperturbed. With a history of trying to attract attention on street corners as a dancer or trader, there wasn't a bone in Neena's body that was shy or insecure. Perhaps that was where the brightness or confidence that Tanishe had observed came from.
With a laugh, Neena grinned brightly at the woman whom she was rapidly considering to be someone she could respect and possibly like.
"That's possibly the nicest compliment I've ever gotten." She said. Then she waved a hand dismissively at the woman and gave her a sidelong look. "But don't be too wonderful to me, I'll get a big head."
She then looked around at the Tanishe, feeling as if she should return the compliment. Not one to say things just because she should, though, Neena spoke only words of truth.
"If I'm the sun then you're the ocean." She told her lightly and without much thought - pure instinct. "Does anything phase you or are you permanently unflappable?"
Neena was quick to act with ration and reason as Tanishe cleaned her arms and the bowl was rendered superfluous. Whilst she was a girl who loved adventure, new experience and a brightness, lightness of existence... Neena was far from frivolous and certainly not vapid. She valued things. She valued her experiences and the people she met and what they cared for.
Like the healing tent. The hawe that the Leierin clearly poured her heart and soul into was worth respecting. It was for that reason - not the fact that she was a slave or had been ordered to carry out the task, for she had not - that Neena disposed of the dirty, bloodied water as she had before and then left the bowl in a small pile of others like it, ready to be used again when needed.
She had been ready to leave the tent, eager to go out and about once more, given she preferred the outdoors to the confines inside a hawe but Tanishe beat her to it and offered an instruction that fell in line with her own desires.
With absolutely no need to balk or resist an order when it worked for what she wished for herself, Neena followed the female leader of the tribe and found herself watching the woman's stable and elegant pace that felt earthy and grounded. The man she had met a few days ago - Hasani. He had had the same sort of walk. It was clear that the two were cut from the same cloth and she found herself smiling at the notion that they were clearly well matched.
When Tanishe turned her own assessing gaze onto Neena, the slave girl was unperturbed. With a history of trying to attract attention on street corners as a dancer or trader, there wasn't a bone in Neena's body that was shy or insecure. Perhaps that was where the brightness or confidence that Tanishe had observed came from.
With a laugh, Neena grinned brightly at the woman whom she was rapidly considering to be someone she could respect and possibly like.
"That's possibly the nicest compliment I've ever gotten." She said. Then she waved a hand dismissively at the woman and gave her a sidelong look. "But don't be too wonderful to me, I'll get a big head."
She then looked around at the Tanishe, feeling as if she should return the compliment. Not one to say things just because she should, though, Neena spoke only words of truth.
"If I'm the sun then you're the ocean." She told her lightly and without much thought - pure instinct. "Does anything phase you or are you permanently unflappable?"
With a comment like she’d just made, she hadn’t thought about how such a thing could have been taken. Some people might have been affronted, taking the ‘sun’ portion as maybe being too intense or perhaps even unwanted, in some way. Neena didn’t take any offense, which was a good thing, since none had been meant. People were fickle creatures and it was hard to tell what might trigger a stranger’s sense of pride and vanity. Tanishe smile as Neena laughed.
"That's possibly the nicest compliment I've ever gotten," the other girl said and Tanishe admired the musical sound of Neena’s laugh. It had a nice round, full nature to it, unreserved and completely open. The girl then waved a hand and gave her a sidelong look. "But don't be too wonderful to me, I'll get a big head."
The two of them were walking side by side and Tanishe smiled to herself. “I will compliment where I like,” she flashed another look to Neena and then turned her attention to the ground before them. The tribe hadn’t been settled in this exact spot overly long, but long enough to make clear paths through the desert ground. There were no rocks obstructing their way and she could pick out the trails that people took between the tents in order to get to wherever their business took them. The trails were comforting, in a strange way. No matter where the tribe settled, no matter what terrain they found themselves in, these same paths would be carved out by people she knew and loved. They were constant.
"If I'm the sun then you're the ocean." Neena’s words pulled Tanishe’s attention back to her and she listened with a slight frown and a growing smile as the other spoke. "Does anything phase you or are you permanently unflappable?"
“I wish I was so grounded,” Tanishe drew in a deep breath. The scents of the camp floated to her - the smell of goat, camel hair tents, dust from their own footsteps, faint traces of water being drawn from a well not far off. In the desert, it was easy and almost innate to recognize the scent of a liquid more valuable than anything else. Before their conversation could continue much further than that, Tanishe caught sight of her mother, who was calling to her. Turning to Neena, she smiled. “It was nice to meet you, Neena.”
She didn’t say much more than that or extend any hope of seeing her again because they were absolutely sure to bump into each other many times and probably for forever onward, she imagined. Now that Neena was here as part of the Zaire tribe, Tanishe didn’t imagine that Neena would go anywhere else. Why would she? It was not often that anyone from Bedoa left their tribe and Tanishe just didn’t really think that way. She didn’t have wanderlust beyond the tribe’s nomadic tendencies. She had no wish to go anywhere else and so, to her mind, people would stay where they were brought. Just as Neena would now be here until death, which was comforting to the Leieren in a way that it would not be comfortable to the servant.
Walking away with her mother, she gave Neena a glance over her shoulder, a last smile, and then moved off through the pathways of the tents to wherever it was that her mother wanted her to go.
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With a comment like she’d just made, she hadn’t thought about how such a thing could have been taken. Some people might have been affronted, taking the ‘sun’ portion as maybe being too intense or perhaps even unwanted, in some way. Neena didn’t take any offense, which was a good thing, since none had been meant. People were fickle creatures and it was hard to tell what might trigger a stranger’s sense of pride and vanity. Tanishe smile as Neena laughed.
"That's possibly the nicest compliment I've ever gotten," the other girl said and Tanishe admired the musical sound of Neena’s laugh. It had a nice round, full nature to it, unreserved and completely open. The girl then waved a hand and gave her a sidelong look. "But don't be too wonderful to me, I'll get a big head."
The two of them were walking side by side and Tanishe smiled to herself. “I will compliment where I like,” she flashed another look to Neena and then turned her attention to the ground before them. The tribe hadn’t been settled in this exact spot overly long, but long enough to make clear paths through the desert ground. There were no rocks obstructing their way and she could pick out the trails that people took between the tents in order to get to wherever their business took them. The trails were comforting, in a strange way. No matter where the tribe settled, no matter what terrain they found themselves in, these same paths would be carved out by people she knew and loved. They were constant.
"If I'm the sun then you're the ocean." Neena’s words pulled Tanishe’s attention back to her and she listened with a slight frown and a growing smile as the other spoke. "Does anything phase you or are you permanently unflappable?"
“I wish I was so grounded,” Tanishe drew in a deep breath. The scents of the camp floated to her - the smell of goat, camel hair tents, dust from their own footsteps, faint traces of water being drawn from a well not far off. In the desert, it was easy and almost innate to recognize the scent of a liquid more valuable than anything else. Before their conversation could continue much further than that, Tanishe caught sight of her mother, who was calling to her. Turning to Neena, she smiled. “It was nice to meet you, Neena.”
She didn’t say much more than that or extend any hope of seeing her again because they were absolutely sure to bump into each other many times and probably for forever onward, she imagined. Now that Neena was here as part of the Zaire tribe, Tanishe didn’t imagine that Neena would go anywhere else. Why would she? It was not often that anyone from Bedoa left their tribe and Tanishe just didn’t really think that way. She didn’t have wanderlust beyond the tribe’s nomadic tendencies. She had no wish to go anywhere else and so, to her mind, people would stay where they were brought. Just as Neena would now be here until death, which was comforting to the Leieren in a way that it would not be comfortable to the servant.
Walking away with her mother, she gave Neena a glance over her shoulder, a last smile, and then moved off through the pathways of the tents to wherever it was that her mother wanted her to go.
With a comment like she’d just made, she hadn’t thought about how such a thing could have been taken. Some people might have been affronted, taking the ‘sun’ portion as maybe being too intense or perhaps even unwanted, in some way. Neena didn’t take any offense, which was a good thing, since none had been meant. People were fickle creatures and it was hard to tell what might trigger a stranger’s sense of pride and vanity. Tanishe smile as Neena laughed.
"That's possibly the nicest compliment I've ever gotten," the other girl said and Tanishe admired the musical sound of Neena’s laugh. It had a nice round, full nature to it, unreserved and completely open. The girl then waved a hand and gave her a sidelong look. "But don't be too wonderful to me, I'll get a big head."
The two of them were walking side by side and Tanishe smiled to herself. “I will compliment where I like,” she flashed another look to Neena and then turned her attention to the ground before them. The tribe hadn’t been settled in this exact spot overly long, but long enough to make clear paths through the desert ground. There were no rocks obstructing their way and she could pick out the trails that people took between the tents in order to get to wherever their business took them. The trails were comforting, in a strange way. No matter where the tribe settled, no matter what terrain they found themselves in, these same paths would be carved out by people she knew and loved. They were constant.
"If I'm the sun then you're the ocean." Neena’s words pulled Tanishe’s attention back to her and she listened with a slight frown and a growing smile as the other spoke. "Does anything phase you or are you permanently unflappable?"
“I wish I was so grounded,” Tanishe drew in a deep breath. The scents of the camp floated to her - the smell of goat, camel hair tents, dust from their own footsteps, faint traces of water being drawn from a well not far off. In the desert, it was easy and almost innate to recognize the scent of a liquid more valuable than anything else. Before their conversation could continue much further than that, Tanishe caught sight of her mother, who was calling to her. Turning to Neena, she smiled. “It was nice to meet you, Neena.”
She didn’t say much more than that or extend any hope of seeing her again because they were absolutely sure to bump into each other many times and probably for forever onward, she imagined. Now that Neena was here as part of the Zaire tribe, Tanishe didn’t imagine that Neena would go anywhere else. Why would she? It was not often that anyone from Bedoa left their tribe and Tanishe just didn’t really think that way. She didn’t have wanderlust beyond the tribe’s nomadic tendencies. She had no wish to go anywhere else and so, to her mind, people would stay where they were brought. Just as Neena would now be here until death, which was comforting to the Leieren in a way that it would not be comfortable to the servant.
Walking away with her mother, she gave Neena a glance over her shoulder, a last smile, and then moved off through the pathways of the tents to wherever it was that her mother wanted her to go.