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There is something very peaceful about sitting on the grassy hill in the afternoon looking across the plains. Its rare I relax with no tunic on. Even in smoldering heat do I keep the light long sleeves of tunic across my arms. There is pride in scars, just not in those that were self inflected, even if a reminder of a young man's struggle of his own will. Something maybe in another hundred years I will get over. Tasha was by my side, we savor these moments of just the two of us, which are far and in between. She tells me stories of her home, the scents and the sands. The Thassa, and ships, battles and raids of infamous black slavers, and when she speaks them, the thrill in her voice tells me, her slavery was something that was truly suppressed back then. Just like a flower ready to bloom under the right care and light. She has blossomed well. The scene before us was perfection, that of endless hills of grass and our own thassa of bosk that stretched out across the background of our life. She spoke of how well Takara was learning, and how it made Tori jealous cause the girl was finding her place at my wagons. This pleased me greatly. All around. If Tori was starting to get on edge, means Takara was doing very well in Tori's eyes too. When it comes to slaves of pure loyalty and hard work, there would be no one I would compare to Tori. We laughed as I told stories of being a clear cheeked young man and daring my way to Turia. I stole clothing from a line dressing as city people, and wandering in with my best friend Jaron to their local Paga Den. I found my odd taste for Kalda there, and we wagered with Scarlet Warriors all night long, winning Daggers, coins and even cloaks of Caste. This amused the both of us, walking out with a green eyed slut from the Sands, for we had won her also in game of daggers across the post of the dancing sands. She wore yellow silks and chains of gold. Looking towards a bosk hooked to a cart with barrels stacked on it, we decided, to take it. It was getting late, and the gates would be closing soon. We were on a roll and with youth came foolishness. It was very clear when we took the merchant also, gagging him, hooding him and tossing him in the back of the cart covered in sacks of roasted nuts, and sweet chips of flat bread that were fried in sugar and cinnamon. Things that might be sold in bowls at paga dens. So there we were, I in a cloak of blue, and Jaron in one of green, just leading the bosk out, with the girl dancing around beside us, as honestly we had let her indulge in wines as we were feeling rich in the Den of Dwellers. We had just left the last gate as it was being pulled closed and vendors leaving with carts in the same path through the outer farms , though from where we were in our drunken haze, we could see the path ended before the first rise of hills across the plains. For some reason, that was the funniest shit me and Jaron had ever seen, and were bellowing out in laughter over it. We were totally oblivious of the dirty looks and questioning glances of those near us just trying to get home. It was like a spark was under our asses when we got this great idea. We told the girl to follow the path with the cart, leading the bosk until it ended, and then keep going past that. We would catch up. The drunk girl thought that was a adventure, going on about sand, or some silly shit hills, I can't remember, I'm sure she was thinking who in their right minds would go beyond the path? Tasha was giggling as she would mold into my arms and I couldn't help but smile at the memory of it all. Not to draw out a very long story, I told her the few things I learned that night.

One, don't set a barn or house on fire while your still in it. Not smart at all.

Two, if your on fire, don't run.

Three, if your friend who can't read breaks open the lid of a barrel and says put your head in this to make the fire in your hair go out, smell it first. Fire likes paga.

Oh yes, and once we both made it, naked, cause our clothing caught on fire, I was bald with a badly burned head, and to drunk to think much on it, and Jaron had half his hair burned off, we discovered another thing. A gagged hooded merchant can suffocate under sacks of nuts and sweet chips. Our bad. Rolling him out, letting the girl drive forward, it was morning by the time we got back to the wagons, hung over, put on trench duty for three days, and was only give sweet chips out of our finds to keep, as our Fathers took the rest. For a lesson learned. Not bringing back enough slaves for everyone.

It was good to share a laugh, I gave her a slap on the ass, to get her going. A second one for making me lay across the grass so long and late for a meal with a toothless patient, who only makes mush. Yum. The rounds were long and slow. Nothing good to make me think. A few good scars on some young men, that they were proud of after a few 'hidden' tears I would never tell about when they were brought in. I did have one interesting afternoon. A little boy, maybe four years old, had a huge bug up his nose. It wasn't an issue of getting it out, it was an issue of him not wanting it out. His mother was saying leave him be, the Father wanted the bug out. The boy said, why not? Two heads are better then one. Smart kid, I was impressed. So after a very long debate, between me and the boy, me and the mom, me and the dad, the dad and the boy, the mom and the dad, I had the headache and we all settled on one good tug, if it doesn't come out, it can stay. So all were semi happy, for I only made sure to pull off the wings and legs so nothing was hanging out obvious.

I have to say, I was happy to get back to my wagons. It was busy, but I wanted to have some warm blackwine, my hands rubbed, and maybe some dancing for my entertainment. The girls were off working on some hides and I had Takara who looked very lovely kneeling before me. I have to honestly say, she has been a very good find. Beautiful, Lustful, Eager, and had great tits and ass. She wasn't to bad on serving either. She was picking things up fast, and I had gotten many compliments on her. I wanted the brand she had, covered in a deep mark of four horns. But before that, I decided, to pierce her nose. Removing her bells, and showing her how to dress in clad kajir, I thought the hoop at her nose was a perfect touch.

I enjoy looking at her. Her beauty was not unique. It was very common for the tribe. Dark hair, eyes, and fair skin starting to hue under the sun. Her feel was what was unique. I wanted to learn more about her. She moved like liquid fire that never burns the skin when touched, but ignites it with her. I like to see the struggle in her. I can see she wants to tear into me like a hungered sleen. I like the suffering of making her stay back. I want to see the begging whimper of body at my feet, that I could mold up into something that is perfect, for me.