(11:17:46 )
kinzi
{MTC}
mat - tp
: Having slept the sleep of a contented one, she rises and exits the kennel wagon. Her lithe arms reach for the sky which her eyes match color for color and she smiles.
(11:21:24 )
kinzi
{MTC}
mat - tp
: Not wanting to be seen as ruffled from sleep as she was, a girl does her best to smooth her hair with slender fingers. The golden silk radiates its own life and drapes to her slender hips to tickle the top of a well honed and rounded butt. Silently as not to disturb those still inside, she tiptoes towards the rain barrel and dips a cup inside to draw a cool drink to wash away the taste of sleep.
(11:24:02 )
kinzi
{MTC}
mat - tp
: The sounds of camp filter to her one at a time, as if the Gods wished them singled out and noted. Vulos and bosk, sleen and children. Cooking fires scent the air with hints of various foods being prepared by slave and Free alike. The soft billowing of bosk herds in the distance, devided and yet together, lead and yet leading bring a soft smile to full lips. She was home.
(11:27:09 )
kinzi
{MTC}
mat - tp
: Unwilling to let this glorious moment go, she slips to the wooden floor of the kennel wagons wide porch and leans against the railing. A meditation slips over her as she recalls the rules and regulations of a camp slave. A girl wraps her mind around these things as precious jewels. She holds them one at a time, enveloping their reason and place in this world. Silent and breathing slowly, she waits for Those who would command her.
(11:39:40 )
kinzi
{MTC}
mat - tp
: The sun bears witness to her deep thoughs and she stirs with its rising heat. Feeling like a lazy slave, she mentally berates herself and rises to tend a task. Self worth important to her, showing her worth important, she moves as always with grace and delicacy. From the porch to the steps to the warming ground, she steps as a dancer would. Unfamiliar with this camps layout, she uses her knowledge of camp life and tests the winds. Heading with the wind at her back towards the edge of the wagons, not a simple feat as there are so very many, she sights the bosk herds and enters the plains proper to collect dung.
(11:43:47 )
kinzi
{MTC}
mat - tp
: With a quick adjustment to her koora to hold her hair away from her face, she spies the other slaves tending the same task. They dot the plains around her and give her a smile or nod as she makes her way around them to find the dried fuel. Many carry bags to make the task easier, she didn't know where they were stored in this camp but that would not stop a diligent slave such as her. With deft movements she dances the plains, dipping to snatch a dried ball of dung here and there, stashing them in the sling she makes of her chatka.
(11:48:46 )
kinzi
{MTC}
mat - tp
: Filling it to brimming, tugged tightly still between her legs, its all she can do to keep the heat on low. Soft mewls escape her lips with each new handful making the pull tighter against delicate flesh. Once full, she sprints back to cookfires, depositing the fuel for future use. The smell of food cooking makes her flat stomach rumble but she doesn' eat. Narry a morstle touches her lips without permission. Spotting a bag near where the fuel is kept, she falls to her knees before the nearest Mistress and waits to be noticed. The softly creased features of a Woman enduring life with grace turn to her and She rasps "Speak".
(11:52:02 )
kinzi
{MTC}
mat - tp
: She lowers her gaze even more, pulls her knees tightly together and lays her hands, dirty palms up upon tanned flesh. "Mistress, may this one use a bag from the cooking fires to gather dung?" The Woman sees that she isn't looking at Her, "Aye girl, but bring it back full." A girl shivers at the directions, always eager to please she nods, "Yes Mistress." Fingers lace around the edge of a bag and she rises when the Mistresses hand wisks her dismissal. Racing heart and feet rejoice at the task and she spends ahns searching for just the right fuel.
(12:13:42 )
kinzi
{MTC}
mat - tp
: The bag weighs heavy but her heart weighs light as she pads through grasses that tickle her knees. Sweat coats her fit form in a glossy sheen and she licks her lips, wishing she had begged a bota of water for this task. She felt like a wild young sleen as she bound over an occasional weather softened rock. Her minds eye saw so many possibilities here, so much better than her lot in life as of late. Being a slave engulfs every emotion imaginable. Every thing from quiet desperation to jubulant sing song joy. Today, she was bathed in joy. Today, she was home.
(12:19:21 )
kinzi
{MTC}
mat - tp
: Once the bag was so full her arm muscles buldged with its weight, she dragged/carried it back through the wagons, the lanes, the noise and scent. She hauled it as if it were the only task she has ever undertaken and wanted it to be done to perfection. Occasionally, she would have to stop and pick up an irrant piece which jumpped from a jostle. Each was replaced to insure the Mistress who allowed her the bag would see that indeed, this sack was full! She huffed and tugged her way through the throngs of P/people. Past butchers and bakers, slaves and sleen trainers. She glorified with each new awareness of what and W/who this camp held. This girl lead the sack to the cooking fires and proudly beamed at the Mistress from her tower when finally noticed. A single word shot arrows of joy through her heart as the Mistress looked at the sack, then to her and said, "Good." She beamed then sprinted off to clean up, muscles hot from the work, mind honed to a slaves pitch.
