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The day was as hot as all of the others, and the tribe had remained camped in the same position for nearly a month. In a few days time, they would be on the move once more, heading in the direction of Egypt. It would soon be time to make trade with their neighboring Kingdom in order to supply their trek back across the sands. Then they would head to one of the oasises that littered the desert sands, luring in the passing tribes for moments of comfort and proper baths.
Bathing in the tents was a normal ritual within the tribe, but it could not be performed unless they had enough fresh water to do so. Squandering their water on bathing was a waste when they could use other liquids to keep them at least clean enough to keep them presentable to the rest of the tribe.
On this day, the younger warriors would be training with knives. It was one of their more taxing training sessions, and all would be rewarded with the bathing tent once they had finished their training. Hasani found it to be a worthwhile treat to the young warriors for working so hard and coming so close to the end of their training. Their final session would be to go out with the hunters as a test of their skill against the wilds. Then their final test would ensue shortly after. Most of the young men were ready to graduate to full warriors, but a few yet still were not as skilled. Hasani had made many points about putting in a proper amount of effort, though it seemed to fall on deaf ears.
Hoping that this lesson would get his point across, Hasani had gathered the teenage warriors into the makeshift training ring. He and Tano were standing together, their arms crossed as the massive, bearded Jabari loudly instructed the boys on how to properly hold and throw a short knife. Contented with the way that things were being explained, Hasani wandered around the ring, setting up targets made of old pelts. Vlek had been painted on the furs to give a clear target pattern in order to test the boys on their accuracy. Those who couldn't cut it would be drilled until they could. There was no other option and failure at being a warrior could lead to a sense of shame for the young men of the tribe. When one did not match up to their peers, there was bound to be resentment and anger at the way the sticks had fallen.
Hasani wanted to avoid that. He wanted to see all of the boys succeed together.
When Jabari motioned to Hasani that it was time for him to step in, the leier stepped into the ring and reached for one of the knives at his belt. Lifting it to show it, "You will all be tested on your knife throwing skills. I know that knife throwing has not been covered completely, but we will practice for most of the morning before taking a rest. Then we will test you on what you have learned, starting with non-moving targets," Hasani explained calmly. One of the other men was drawing a line in the sand for all of the young men to stand at.
Stepping up to the line himself, the leier lined up his throw. Leaning his hand back and then flicking his wrist to throw the knife forward with a deft, precise movement, Hasani smirked a little when his knife landed at the center of the target. Brushing his hands on his linen pants, he turned to watch every young warrior in turn. "When you have mastered the non-moving targets, we will move onto moving targets. Jabari has kindly offered to be your target," Hasani flashed a smirk at the boys. "Are we ready to start then?" he added after a momentary pause.
The boys all nodded at once, starting to line up on the line and readying their knives. With a nod from Hasani, the boys started their practice, actively ignoring the grouping tribemates who had taken time out of their day to watch their friends and loved ones train.
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The day was as hot as all of the others, and the tribe had remained camped in the same position for nearly a month. In a few days time, they would be on the move once more, heading in the direction of Egypt. It would soon be time to make trade with their neighboring Kingdom in order to supply their trek back across the sands. Then they would head to one of the oasises that littered the desert sands, luring in the passing tribes for moments of comfort and proper baths.
Bathing in the tents was a normal ritual within the tribe, but it could not be performed unless they had enough fresh water to do so. Squandering their water on bathing was a waste when they could use other liquids to keep them at least clean enough to keep them presentable to the rest of the tribe.
On this day, the younger warriors would be training with knives. It was one of their more taxing training sessions, and all would be rewarded with the bathing tent once they had finished their training. Hasani found it to be a worthwhile treat to the young warriors for working so hard and coming so close to the end of their training. Their final session would be to go out with the hunters as a test of their skill against the wilds. Then their final test would ensue shortly after. Most of the young men were ready to graduate to full warriors, but a few yet still were not as skilled. Hasani had made many points about putting in a proper amount of effort, though it seemed to fall on deaf ears.
Hoping that this lesson would get his point across, Hasani had gathered the teenage warriors into the makeshift training ring. He and Tano were standing together, their arms crossed as the massive, bearded Jabari loudly instructed the boys on how to properly hold and throw a short knife. Contented with the way that things were being explained, Hasani wandered around the ring, setting up targets made of old pelts. Vlek had been painted on the furs to give a clear target pattern in order to test the boys on their accuracy. Those who couldn't cut it would be drilled until they could. There was no other option and failure at being a warrior could lead to a sense of shame for the young men of the tribe. When one did not match up to their peers, there was bound to be resentment and anger at the way the sticks had fallen.
Hasani wanted to avoid that. He wanted to see all of the boys succeed together.
When Jabari motioned to Hasani that it was time for him to step in, the leier stepped into the ring and reached for one of the knives at his belt. Lifting it to show it, "You will all be tested on your knife throwing skills. I know that knife throwing has not been covered completely, but we will practice for most of the morning before taking a rest. Then we will test you on what you have learned, starting with non-moving targets," Hasani explained calmly. One of the other men was drawing a line in the sand for all of the young men to stand at.
Stepping up to the line himself, the leier lined up his throw. Leaning his hand back and then flicking his wrist to throw the knife forward with a deft, precise movement, Hasani smirked a little when his knife landed at the center of the target. Brushing his hands on his linen pants, he turned to watch every young warrior in turn. "When you have mastered the non-moving targets, we will move onto moving targets. Jabari has kindly offered to be your target," Hasani flashed a smirk at the boys. "Are we ready to start then?" he added after a momentary pause.
The boys all nodded at once, starting to line up on the line and readying their knives. With a nod from Hasani, the boys started their practice, actively ignoring the grouping tribemates who had taken time out of their day to watch their friends and loved ones train.
The day was as hot as all of the others, and the tribe had remained camped in the same position for nearly a month. In a few days time, they would be on the move once more, heading in the direction of Egypt. It would soon be time to make trade with their neighboring Kingdom in order to supply their trek back across the sands. Then they would head to one of the oasises that littered the desert sands, luring in the passing tribes for moments of comfort and proper baths.
Bathing in the tents was a normal ritual within the tribe, but it could not be performed unless they had enough fresh water to do so. Squandering their water on bathing was a waste when they could use other liquids to keep them at least clean enough to keep them presentable to the rest of the tribe.
On this day, the younger warriors would be training with knives. It was one of their more taxing training sessions, and all would be rewarded with the bathing tent once they had finished their training. Hasani found it to be a worthwhile treat to the young warriors for working so hard and coming so close to the end of their training. Their final session would be to go out with the hunters as a test of their skill against the wilds. Then their final test would ensue shortly after. Most of the young men were ready to graduate to full warriors, but a few yet still were not as skilled. Hasani had made many points about putting in a proper amount of effort, though it seemed to fall on deaf ears.
Hoping that this lesson would get his point across, Hasani had gathered the teenage warriors into the makeshift training ring. He and Tano were standing together, their arms crossed as the massive, bearded Jabari loudly instructed the boys on how to properly hold and throw a short knife. Contented with the way that things were being explained, Hasani wandered around the ring, setting up targets made of old pelts. Vlek had been painted on the furs to give a clear target pattern in order to test the boys on their accuracy. Those who couldn't cut it would be drilled until they could. There was no other option and failure at being a warrior could lead to a sense of shame for the young men of the tribe. When one did not match up to their peers, there was bound to be resentment and anger at the way the sticks had fallen.
Hasani wanted to avoid that. He wanted to see all of the boys succeed together.
When Jabari motioned to Hasani that it was time for him to step in, the leier stepped into the ring and reached for one of the knives at his belt. Lifting it to show it, "You will all be tested on your knife throwing skills. I know that knife throwing has not been covered completely, but we will practice for most of the morning before taking a rest. Then we will test you on what you have learned, starting with non-moving targets," Hasani explained calmly. One of the other men was drawing a line in the sand for all of the young men to stand at.
Stepping up to the line himself, the leier lined up his throw. Leaning his hand back and then flicking his wrist to throw the knife forward with a deft, precise movement, Hasani smirked a little when his knife landed at the center of the target. Brushing his hands on his linen pants, he turned to watch every young warrior in turn. "When you have mastered the non-moving targets, we will move onto moving targets. Jabari has kindly offered to be your target," Hasani flashed a smirk at the boys. "Are we ready to start then?" he added after a momentary pause.
The boys all nodded at once, starting to line up on the line and readying their knives. With a nod from Hasani, the boys started their practice, actively ignoring the grouping tribemates who had taken time out of their day to watch their friends and loved ones train.
The day had been hard so far. As a tribe slave, Neena was effectively owned by the collective - not a single individual. But while that might make it seem as if she had a slightly easier life, not held to the whims and potentially malicious nature of a single owner, it also meant that she was the slave of what felt like a thousand bosses. She was forced to meet the expectations and capitulate to the instructions of every tribal member. Else they could appeal to their leaders that she had been anarchical in her behaviour and be sentenced to punishment for insubordination. And punishments for slaves generally involved a long piece of leather and a strong arm. Which, in this heat was twice the torture it sounded.
As such, today had been a particularly bad day to be a tribal slave. There was a lot going on - mostly in preparation for the fact that they would be leaving their particular encampment area soon. Which meant there were a lot of tasks to be done. Blankets and kaftans to be cleaned, tents and hawes to be fixed, clothing to be mended, the sands to be eradicated of the dung left by horses and camels or the burns created by their camp stoves and fires. The Bedoan people believed in the sanctity of the earth their ancestors had turned to the hot sands beneath their feet and were cautious about their impact upon it, ensuring that the land was left as they found it upon first settling there.
Neena had been one of the slaves expected to ensure that this happened.
Not to mention the fact that her skills as a physician and knowledge as a healer - which had somehow gotten out and started to spread through the Zaire tribe like wildfire - meant that everyone wanted her to come and look upon them. They wanted to be assured that their cough, their rash, their bum leg or whatever else injury or insult was currently plaguing them would not be dangerously or negatively affected by the journey ahead.
It was hard to do anything upon the move, when journeying across the sands, because delays were dangerous. It meant longer time before they reached oases or watering holes. And when the nomadic people were never a hundred percent sure if the holes that they had left behind them would still be there on their next visit - and whether they would have to continue journeying on without water for several more days - the delay of even a few hours could be severely costly.
Which meant that everything had to be done before leaving.
After a morning at a local stream - the water too dirty for drinking but clean enough to wash bed bugs and animals from the kaftan sheets - Neena had then spent the majority of her time until midday looking at the maladies of the young and old. Elderly women wanted their joints checked over and the mothers of young boys wanted runny noses looked at. When it came to some of them, Neena wasn't sure why they bothered, given that it was clear to her that they would be sending themselves or their children to the healer's tent as soon as she assured them that they were fine. Patients, she had found, only ever wanted to be told bad news if they needed to believe it. And good news when it was a lie.
Leaving her eye rolls to be reserved for only her internal thoughts, Neena was stretching out her back to several cracking sounds as the sun continued to rise to its highest point over her head. She had spent her time since dawn running around to the tune of what felt like every other tribal member and felt the need to perform as the perfect slave before the eyes of everyone she met.
Like she had thought... it had been a bad day to be a tribal slave.
This was, however, not always the case. Whilst Neena was never allowed to forget that every member of the Zaire tribe outranked her and could be considered her owner, it was common that she would be given to a particular person for a day or a series of hours and be able to say no to other tasks and requests when they clashed with that of her current monitor. With the days leading to their departure, however? Such a rule went out the window and every task became of equal importance and priority. Ergo, unable to be refused by someone as lowly as her - a simple slave girl.
Exhausted to the bone, aching across her back muscles and rubbed raw upon her palms from the cleaning of roughly woven material, Neena was quick to spot yet another Zaire member who was calling her over with another task to be completed and she felt her rebellious spirit revolt. For a moment, she was eager to duck behind the nearest hawe, risk the thread of punishment and reprimand and simply claim not to have seen the little old woman who was beckoning her towards her with a wizened hand.
Just a quick nip to the left and a low bearing head and she could have darted along behind the haws of Saani and Milana and be off down towards the central campfires in no time, away from the demanding locals in the area she currently occupied.
But noticing who the woman was that sought her aid, Neena's compassion won out over her selfish desire to give her back and hands a break.
Jhameetza was a woman of good stories and a wicked tongue and sense of humour that Neena had become fond of since she had arrived with the Zaire. She had fixed the woman's hawe a few times, collected wood for her to burn on the coldest of nights when her joints hurt and collected food for her when walking was too painful and she was unable to reach where the meat was being cooked. And every time she sought to help the woman; she was rewarded with impressive stories of the Zaire tribe dating back for multiple generations. The woman made her think of her friend Hesiodos whom she hadn't seen in a few years and couldn't help but think would adore the old crone and the way she smiled with only three teeth.
Accepting that the kindness, humour and entertainment that old Jhameetza had shown her since she had arrived with the Zaire six weeks ago was worth whatever request she had of her now, Neena darted over and folded herself down to the sand in front of where the old woman sat huddled in several layers of kaftan despite the heat. With one thrown over her head, she appeared as if she were a wise and haggard face staring out of a pile of laundry.
"What can I do for you, Jhameetza?" Neena asked, crumpling her legs and feet beneath her as she fell to her knees on the sands and brought her hands together in a demure gesture upon her thighs. She grinned broadly. "You need me to spy on someone again?"
Another fun thing about Jhameetza was her rebellious streak. Neena couldn't imagine what the hag had been like in her youth, with enough energy to run around committing espionage herself, but since she wasn't able to do so much of the speedy sneaky thing herself these days, Neena appeared to have been the pair of healthy legs that she had adopted for her own purposes. More than once, the woman had plied Neena into becoming her eyes and ears and sneaking around the camp to see if her grandson-in-law was cheating on her delicate flower of a granddaughter, or if her great-grandson by another child was keeping up with his studies or simply running around with his friends in the dunes.
Even without Neena, Jhameetza seemed to know exactly what was going on and where and how, but with her she was able to catch criminals in the act of their wicked, wicked ways. Something that she enjoyed doing with a crooked and ill-matching smile.
'Kenta is training with the Leier, today.' Jhameetza told her, her voice ragged and old but not croaking or wheezing as so many her age might be. Neena had thrown social convention out of the window once and asked the old girl how many years she had been around but she had just cackled wickedly and told the girl 'long enough'. 'He and the other boys will be thirsty and I know he'll not have thought to take something.'
Kenta was one of Jhameetza's sixteen great-grandchildren (all of whom, Neena had learnt the names of) and was, from what she could work out, a bit of a rascal. She had a vague impression of a broad forehead and large eyebrows that she had yet to fully grow into despite being sixteen but further detail on his appearance was a little blurry in Neena's memory. She had only met him the once.
"You want me to take some to them?" Neena asked the old woman, confirming what it was she was requesting. When the old girl nodded with tired sort of look in her eye, Neena couldn't help but smile back, reaching out to place the back of her hand upon the woman's forehead and checking nonchalantly that fever didn't accompany that tiredness and it was just old age talking, not her health.
"I'm sure I can manage that, my old friend." She said with a nod of approval before letting her hand drop and unfolding her legs from beneath her until she was, once again, standing.
The old woman smiled at her, her lips together in a gesture of true thanks rather than cheeky conspiracy and Neena felt a warmth bloom in her chest. This was another reason she liked Jhameetza. Regardless of any spying, teasing and puppet-mistress ways that she enacted over the tribe from her little corner of the place, Neena knew that none of it was malicious in nature. Jhameetza - despite the fact that she couldn't hold her arms up for long periods of time - liked to try and embrace the entire community. She looked out for them. Seeing herself as some kind of wise old owl, looking out with a gaze that was as sharp as her talons that now hadn't seen the light of day for some years.
"I'll grab some water skins from our supply and take them down to the trainees. I'm sure they'll have enough, but best to be sure." She said with an assuring thumbs up and resting a palm on the old lady's bundled shoulder. Jhameetza reached up and placed her own hand, warped with age and wizened by the sun, upon Neena's youthful touch and chaffed the back of her fingers with a soft few pats.
'You're a good girl.' The woman told her, prompting Neena to place a hand to her shoulder as if she had been shot through with an arrow.
"Jhameetza, how dare you!" She claimed with mocking jest. "You know I'm as bad as they come." Neena stuck her tongue out and pressed it between her teeth, winked at the woman and then watched as the mirth in her own humour sparked in the little pile of cloth and set Jhameetza cackling.
'Go!' The woman cried, in a soft but decisive instruction that was dulled only from the fact that it came from a snuggly warm chest deep within her blankets. 'Before I tan your hide for your cheek!'
Knowing that the crone would do absolutely no such thing but loving the energy and liveliness with which she threatened, Neena was quick to dance upright, pull her feet together, straighten her back and salute to the old woman as she had seen Grecian soldiers do so, with a fist upon their chest. She then hop, skip and a-jumped herself into action and took off at a quick enough pace that she could maintain her speed all the way to the supplied tent in good time to appease the old woman she left huddled out from of her hawe, people-watching and surveying her herd.
The supply tent itself was on the opposite side of the tribe and when the Zaire was a good few hundred strong, it took a while before Neena made it over there. On the way she was witness to a thousand different spectacles of human interaction that she would have loved to stay and watch - for experience and people were the two things in life that she lived for. But instead, she was kept to the task she had been bestowed by her old friend and she could not stop long when each snippet of life and love entered her peripheral.
There was the young mother demanding whether or not her very young son had decided to try to eat the vlek paste for his sister's birthday celebrations the next day. Judging by the emphatic shaking of the boy's head he was clearly denying it despite not realising he had the black paste all around his mouth. Then there was the older gentleman - perhaps a grandson to the three boys at his knee - teaching them how to appropriately take care of their weaponry; how to tend to the metal and ensure that such instruments did not rust or tarnish in the heat. A little further on, two women – sisters if Neena was any judge of the way their cheekbones fell at the same angle and their eyes were tipped at the corner in the same way (as if they were constantly on the brink of smiling) - sat working upon a large kaftan cover. The sheet of woven fabric was far too large for a single hawe covering but when one of them flicked out the long blanket in order to find a better position for her weaving, Neena was able to see the rounded belly that had been hidden beneath. One of the two was expecting and clearly preparing the fabrics needed for her husband to construct a larger hawe for the whole family...
Not only was it torture to not stop and witness these little moments of life around her, it was also a benefit to keep her feet moving. There were several moments in which Neena's eye caught that of someone coming towards her with something broken or was raising a hand as if to summon her to their side. Unlike when she had stamped down hard upon the desire to run and hide when it had been Jhameetza calling her over, it was on these occasions that Neena skittered around another hawe and carried on walking at a decent and rather rapid pace. She kept her gaze locked forwards and ensured that her arms were swinging with regimental precision as she went about her way, determined to look like she had been set upon a mission of much importance.
No slave would walk in such a way unless they were on a dire needed duty for an important member of the tribe, surely?
At least, this was the impression she hoped and (seemed to) manage to convince in the minds of those who were trying to catch her attention for, while she saw several seem willing to try and halt her, none of them actually went so far as to block her path, grab her to a standstill or command her to stop - all and any of which she would have had to obey as a slave of their people. Instead, however, she was permitted to go on her merry way, across several more rows of hawe tents, around a barely boisterous fight between some pre-teen boys that she had determinedly stayed clear of (she had tried to play mediator in fights before and it never seemed to go very well - there was a reason she translated rather than was the one to come up with the actual words when it came to diplomacy), and on towards where several much larger hawes were set up in order to store the tribe's universal supplies.
Those tents in question, however, as well as being significantly larger than most of the personal and residential constructs in the rest of the settlement, were also guarded. So that members of the tribe didn't make the catastrophic mistake of using resources unnecessarily or were stupid enough to damage the contents within. Whilst it was unlikely that anyone in the tribe would be idiotic enough to - say - walk into the hawe with an open flame so they could see and risk setting fire to every wooden crate of food and skin of water inside - there were times when humans were stupid. And it was naive to risk the lives and health and stomachs of the entire tribe on the hope that no-one would make such a human mistake. Hence the guards.
Which, of course, meant that Neena was forced to prove that she was there with good cause.
"I've been instructed by the Leier to come and collect water for the trainees." Neena stated, her quick tongue and life as a runaway thief making it easy for her to lie with simple alacrity and a convincingly innocent lilt to her words. The guardsmen looked to one another as if to see if they weren't the only one to believe her but Neena said nothing further to try and prove her case.
This was where most people went wrong in lying. When sensed that their words weren't holding enough water or worrying that those whom they were trying to convince weren't buying the untruths they were selling, they doubled-down... they sought to convince those they were lying to by elaborating. Whether it was adding to the lie or making the other person feel guilty or stupid for not believing them or - even worse - threatening what might happen to them if they didn't believe them and they turned out to be telling the truth... Any of it was a desperate plea to be believed and with a lot of people, their subconscious mind picked up on it. In short, there was no benefit to adding to a lie unless someone outright called you on it. Confident, truthful people didn't need to convince others. Because reality was on their side.
Ergo, Neena said nothing when the men turned to one another for confirmation and instead simply stood, hands on hips, posture casual, and her expression neutral. As if she knew they had to come to a decision together and then when they made the - right - call to let her inside the supply tent they would tell her so. No need to hurry them, no need to pester. Because she was in the right.
It was an impression and confidence game that, eventually, after a moment of indecision and a nod between the two Zaire warriors, allowed her admittance to the tent.
Shifting their arms and curling their biceps, the men moved the two spears they had been holding in a cross to bar the entrance to the hawe upright and therefore out of the way, so that Neena might step forward. Reaching out, she slapped one of them upon the shoulder in a so-casual-it-was-humorous gesture of gratitude with a token - "Thank you, good sir." - and then swept aside the long covering of the doorway to her right so as to duck in to the cavernous insides of the largest hawe she had ever been inside of.
The supple hawe was actually several placed together side by side. In its centre, where the walls of the individual tents has come together, the poles were in place but the sheets of kaftan and tapestry had been tied up upon the seams of the roof so that they were open to one another - leaving in its belly an enclosed space larger than anything Neena had seen in any other tribe and separated only by the wooden legs dotted here and there.
Not every Bedoan tribe had a supply tent. The Somalu hadn't when Neena had been a part of their tribe and she certainly couldn't see the Mekaki having one given their size as the largest tribe in the Bedoan lands. On the flip side, given their stature as the smallest, Neena couldn't imagine the Nubi not having one.
In general, the people of each Bedoan tribe kept to themselves. Their kept their own family, their hunted for them, fed them, wove their own clothes and monitored their own structures, hawes and homes. The tribe their belonged to wasn't their family - their blood was - but the tribe itself gave a collective sense of culture, security and purpose; a direction that they could follow in and not feel totally isolated or alone. Not to mention it provided more people. More people and the more likelihood of successful hunts. The more people and the more chances for people to marry, have children and continue the family line. The tribes were a means of survival and a sense of belonging but they were not families that felt honour-bound to take care of one another in the way a parent did a child.
Taking care of each other, however, was exactly what the smaller tribes were forced to do. In the same way that larger numbers produced more chance of food and safety, the smaller tribes had this more a necessity than a bonus. The fact that togetherness was a necessity for survival rather than choice - in the same way that a child fundamentally needed its parent - meant that there was that binding, that honour, that meant they had to take care of one another.
And taking care of one another, when resources like water, food and roofs that could protect you from a burning and boiling sun were in short supply, meant sharing. The families that were particularly good at hunting and could find more livestock than they could eat themselves - they gave the excess to the tribe. The same went for those who lived nearer the water, or those who could weave faster or sturdier fabrics for clothing or homes... or those who went scavenging and foraging in lands close by and came back with more supplies than their own immediate family would need.
And all of that excess property, resources or needs all needed somewhere to be kept. Somewhere where the numbers and supplies could be monitored so that they went to the tribe in a controlled manner. Somewhere that could be guarded from the potential stupidity of younger (or sometimes older) members of the tribe, so that it wouldn't be damaged. Somewhere where the excess that was not necessary to one family could save the lives of another.
Hence, the supply hawes.
Which was why there was so much stock here.
Not only was there food, water, weapons, fabrics and cargo, but - given the Zaire's proficiency in certain ways - physician and healer resources like medicines, cots, sheeting and bandages, dried herbs and bottled pastes. There were even some books and parchments on anatomy and medicinal practices. The Zaire were a learned people and with learning came the supplies required to do so. And rather than allow one generation to learn the information and then pass it down in a way that would bastardise the original lesson, allowing future practitioners to only know the edited version, it was clear that they kept the paperwork of the original teachers and ensured that all could learn in the same ways, keeping all other practice and experience as additional information, rather than the only.
Neena was impressed.
She was also a little concerned. How in the heck was she supposed to find what she was looking for in a hawe that could sleep twenty, when everything was piled high?
Luckily, she was a smart person and so were those who had been charged with setting up the hawe in this particular campsite (though Neena did not envy them their job of having to unpack and set up all of this stuff). Because in their efforts to set up the supply hawe, they had also applied logic and was easy for Neena to quickly spot exactly how they had organised the resources...
Foods were together, weaponry in another corner, the clothes and fabrics rolled and stored together in little pyramids, whilst books and medical supplies were in wooden boxes stacked together and marked with vlek upon the sides of which each one actually contained.
The water skins that she was looking for were also together and easy to find.
Several stakes had been driven into the sands in the centre of the left-hand section of the hawe. From these short pillars of wood - each with little arms attached as if they were once thick boughs from which branches had grown - were the tied strings of several dozen water skins. They hung still until Neena approached and then with her fingers trying to latch beneath the strings of two select skin sacks, she jostled those still on the pole and heard the sloshing from within their bellies. These were certainly water skins as opposed to continuing something like oil or heated vlek - neither of which swooshed and slopped with that kind of ease and noise.
Careful not to know the others or cause the heavy contents of each to swing and dislodge their anchor from the sands below, Neena slid her index fingers beneath the little ropes that held the sacks closed and lifted them free of their brethren. Tying the strings of each together and then throwing one over her shoulder so that she could take the weight like a saddle bag, Neena ignored the sharp little sting of the rope cutting into her shoulder and turned to head for the door.
Some in her position - a slave, a woman who hoped to run away for freedom, a thief - might have taken more than was needed. Or at least would be expected to by those who witnessed her entering the hawe. Instead, however, Neena ignored everything that she wasn't there to get and took only what Jhameetza had been concerned that the Leier and his trainee warriors might need.
Neena was a thief when she needed to be and would steal to survive and eat. But she never stole from those who needed it and she never took what she herself was not absolutely in need of personally. So, the supple hawe sparked zero temptation or desire to pilfer in her heart and she was perfectly happy to leave the hawe in her own time with only the two sacks in hand.
"See ya, boys!" Neena called in a sing-song voice, as she swept the entrance flap of the hawe out of her way, let it drop behind her and continued walking, waving a hand above her head and flashing a flirtatious grin over her shoulder. Neither of the guardsmen seemed impressed and simply extended their arms once more to cross their spears over the entrance and seemed to watch after her. Probably to check that she was about to head in the direction she was supposed to with the skins she had so apparently collected on behalf of the Leier.
Not at all worried about what they would see - for Neena was going to go exactly where they expected her to - Neena passed by the central open space where a bonfire was constructed every time for the people of the tribe - the burnt pieces of wood and sand stained black marking the space that had been used the previous night - and headed down a slippery sand dune and out into an open area where the ground was more compacted.
It was here that a large group of the tribe - mostly curious young boys or older men with legacies to be maintained by those who stood just fifty yards away with the Leier - had settled in to play spectator. Some of them looked up upon Neena's approach and glanced hopefully at the water skins she held but Neena kept her gaze away from them - a silent communication that what she carried wasn't for them. Instead, she struck out on her own, towards the trainees, sparking several sets of eyes to spring wide.
With what appeared to be a total lack of care or self-awareness, Neena strode out directly across the path of several of the trainee fighters, their arms stilling mid throw as she passed, fearful of hitting her with their blades. Several had already loosed their throwing knives and she simply walked by anyway, her experience as a knife thrower, juggled and travelling performer telling her easily when to move between the warriors to avoid blades hitting flesh. To anyone who didn't know her background, she probably looked positively suicidal. When, in actual fact, she was entirely safe and her knowledge and experience with blades kept her so, all the way up to the Leier who was watching her with a combination of shock and nausea.
Before the man could say anything, Neena unhooked the bags from where she had held them upon her shoulder and held them out to the man, the rope stretched across the insides of her fingers and the bags hanging from either side of her hands.
"I heard you've been training for a few hours and might need these?" Neena suggested, happy to admit (if he asked) that Jhameetza had sent her but, given she had no idea if Hasani even knew the old woman that seemed irrelevant information to tell him right off the bat. "I collected them from the tribe's supple hawe, I hope that's alright?" The offerings of the water skins came with a kind smile of compassion that suggested total innocence in her efforts. Rather than the idea that this whole venture had been to avoid doing any more cleaning...
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This character is currently a work in progress.
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The day had been hard so far. As a tribe slave, Neena was effectively owned by the collective - not a single individual. But while that might make it seem as if she had a slightly easier life, not held to the whims and potentially malicious nature of a single owner, it also meant that she was the slave of what felt like a thousand bosses. She was forced to meet the expectations and capitulate to the instructions of every tribal member. Else they could appeal to their leaders that she had been anarchical in her behaviour and be sentenced to punishment for insubordination. And punishments for slaves generally involved a long piece of leather and a strong arm. Which, in this heat was twice the torture it sounded.
As such, today had been a particularly bad day to be a tribal slave. There was a lot going on - mostly in preparation for the fact that they would be leaving their particular encampment area soon. Which meant there were a lot of tasks to be done. Blankets and kaftans to be cleaned, tents and hawes to be fixed, clothing to be mended, the sands to be eradicated of the dung left by horses and camels or the burns created by their camp stoves and fires. The Bedoan people believed in the sanctity of the earth their ancestors had turned to the hot sands beneath their feet and were cautious about their impact upon it, ensuring that the land was left as they found it upon first settling there.
Neena had been one of the slaves expected to ensure that this happened.
Not to mention the fact that her skills as a physician and knowledge as a healer - which had somehow gotten out and started to spread through the Zaire tribe like wildfire - meant that everyone wanted her to come and look upon them. They wanted to be assured that their cough, their rash, their bum leg or whatever else injury or insult was currently plaguing them would not be dangerously or negatively affected by the journey ahead.
It was hard to do anything upon the move, when journeying across the sands, because delays were dangerous. It meant longer time before they reached oases or watering holes. And when the nomadic people were never a hundred percent sure if the holes that they had left behind them would still be there on their next visit - and whether they would have to continue journeying on without water for several more days - the delay of even a few hours could be severely costly.
Which meant that everything had to be done before leaving.
After a morning at a local stream - the water too dirty for drinking but clean enough to wash bed bugs and animals from the kaftan sheets - Neena had then spent the majority of her time until midday looking at the maladies of the young and old. Elderly women wanted their joints checked over and the mothers of young boys wanted runny noses looked at. When it came to some of them, Neena wasn't sure why they bothered, given that it was clear to her that they would be sending themselves or their children to the healer's tent as soon as she assured them that they were fine. Patients, she had found, only ever wanted to be told bad news if they needed to believe it. And good news when it was a lie.
Leaving her eye rolls to be reserved for only her internal thoughts, Neena was stretching out her back to several cracking sounds as the sun continued to rise to its highest point over her head. She had spent her time since dawn running around to the tune of what felt like every other tribal member and felt the need to perform as the perfect slave before the eyes of everyone she met.
Like she had thought... it had been a bad day to be a tribal slave.
This was, however, not always the case. Whilst Neena was never allowed to forget that every member of the Zaire tribe outranked her and could be considered her owner, it was common that she would be given to a particular person for a day or a series of hours and be able to say no to other tasks and requests when they clashed with that of her current monitor. With the days leading to their departure, however? Such a rule went out the window and every task became of equal importance and priority. Ergo, unable to be refused by someone as lowly as her - a simple slave girl.
Exhausted to the bone, aching across her back muscles and rubbed raw upon her palms from the cleaning of roughly woven material, Neena was quick to spot yet another Zaire member who was calling her over with another task to be completed and she felt her rebellious spirit revolt. For a moment, she was eager to duck behind the nearest hawe, risk the thread of punishment and reprimand and simply claim not to have seen the little old woman who was beckoning her towards her with a wizened hand.
Just a quick nip to the left and a low bearing head and she could have darted along behind the haws of Saani and Milana and be off down towards the central campfires in no time, away from the demanding locals in the area she currently occupied.
But noticing who the woman was that sought her aid, Neena's compassion won out over her selfish desire to give her back and hands a break.
Jhameetza was a woman of good stories and a wicked tongue and sense of humour that Neena had become fond of since she had arrived with the Zaire. She had fixed the woman's hawe a few times, collected wood for her to burn on the coldest of nights when her joints hurt and collected food for her when walking was too painful and she was unable to reach where the meat was being cooked. And every time she sought to help the woman; she was rewarded with impressive stories of the Zaire tribe dating back for multiple generations. The woman made her think of her friend Hesiodos whom she hadn't seen in a few years and couldn't help but think would adore the old crone and the way she smiled with only three teeth.
Accepting that the kindness, humour and entertainment that old Jhameetza had shown her since she had arrived with the Zaire six weeks ago was worth whatever request she had of her now, Neena darted over and folded herself down to the sand in front of where the old woman sat huddled in several layers of kaftan despite the heat. With one thrown over her head, she appeared as if she were a wise and haggard face staring out of a pile of laundry.
"What can I do for you, Jhameetza?" Neena asked, crumpling her legs and feet beneath her as she fell to her knees on the sands and brought her hands together in a demure gesture upon her thighs. She grinned broadly. "You need me to spy on someone again?"
Another fun thing about Jhameetza was her rebellious streak. Neena couldn't imagine what the hag had been like in her youth, with enough energy to run around committing espionage herself, but since she wasn't able to do so much of the speedy sneaky thing herself these days, Neena appeared to have been the pair of healthy legs that she had adopted for her own purposes. More than once, the woman had plied Neena into becoming her eyes and ears and sneaking around the camp to see if her grandson-in-law was cheating on her delicate flower of a granddaughter, or if her great-grandson by another child was keeping up with his studies or simply running around with his friends in the dunes.
Even without Neena, Jhameetza seemed to know exactly what was going on and where and how, but with her she was able to catch criminals in the act of their wicked, wicked ways. Something that she enjoyed doing with a crooked and ill-matching smile.
'Kenta is training with the Leier, today.' Jhameetza told her, her voice ragged and old but not croaking or wheezing as so many her age might be. Neena had thrown social convention out of the window once and asked the old girl how many years she had been around but she had just cackled wickedly and told the girl 'long enough'. 'He and the other boys will be thirsty and I know he'll not have thought to take something.'
Kenta was one of Jhameetza's sixteen great-grandchildren (all of whom, Neena had learnt the names of) and was, from what she could work out, a bit of a rascal. She had a vague impression of a broad forehead and large eyebrows that she had yet to fully grow into despite being sixteen but further detail on his appearance was a little blurry in Neena's memory. She had only met him the once.
"You want me to take some to them?" Neena asked the old woman, confirming what it was she was requesting. When the old girl nodded with tired sort of look in her eye, Neena couldn't help but smile back, reaching out to place the back of her hand upon the woman's forehead and checking nonchalantly that fever didn't accompany that tiredness and it was just old age talking, not her health.
"I'm sure I can manage that, my old friend." She said with a nod of approval before letting her hand drop and unfolding her legs from beneath her until she was, once again, standing.
The old woman smiled at her, her lips together in a gesture of true thanks rather than cheeky conspiracy and Neena felt a warmth bloom in her chest. This was another reason she liked Jhameetza. Regardless of any spying, teasing and puppet-mistress ways that she enacted over the tribe from her little corner of the place, Neena knew that none of it was malicious in nature. Jhameetza - despite the fact that she couldn't hold her arms up for long periods of time - liked to try and embrace the entire community. She looked out for them. Seeing herself as some kind of wise old owl, looking out with a gaze that was as sharp as her talons that now hadn't seen the light of day for some years.
"I'll grab some water skins from our supply and take them down to the trainees. I'm sure they'll have enough, but best to be sure." She said with an assuring thumbs up and resting a palm on the old lady's bundled shoulder. Jhameetza reached up and placed her own hand, warped with age and wizened by the sun, upon Neena's youthful touch and chaffed the back of her fingers with a soft few pats.
'You're a good girl.' The woman told her, prompting Neena to place a hand to her shoulder as if she had been shot through with an arrow.
"Jhameetza, how dare you!" She claimed with mocking jest. "You know I'm as bad as they come." Neena stuck her tongue out and pressed it between her teeth, winked at the woman and then watched as the mirth in her own humour sparked in the little pile of cloth and set Jhameetza cackling.
'Go!' The woman cried, in a soft but decisive instruction that was dulled only from the fact that it came from a snuggly warm chest deep within her blankets. 'Before I tan your hide for your cheek!'
Knowing that the crone would do absolutely no such thing but loving the energy and liveliness with which she threatened, Neena was quick to dance upright, pull her feet together, straighten her back and salute to the old woman as she had seen Grecian soldiers do so, with a fist upon their chest. She then hop, skip and a-jumped herself into action and took off at a quick enough pace that she could maintain her speed all the way to the supplied tent in good time to appease the old woman she left huddled out from of her hawe, people-watching and surveying her herd.
The supply tent itself was on the opposite side of the tribe and when the Zaire was a good few hundred strong, it took a while before Neena made it over there. On the way she was witness to a thousand different spectacles of human interaction that she would have loved to stay and watch - for experience and people were the two things in life that she lived for. But instead, she was kept to the task she had been bestowed by her old friend and she could not stop long when each snippet of life and love entered her peripheral.
There was the young mother demanding whether or not her very young son had decided to try to eat the vlek paste for his sister's birthday celebrations the next day. Judging by the emphatic shaking of the boy's head he was clearly denying it despite not realising he had the black paste all around his mouth. Then there was the older gentleman - perhaps a grandson to the three boys at his knee - teaching them how to appropriately take care of their weaponry; how to tend to the metal and ensure that such instruments did not rust or tarnish in the heat. A little further on, two women – sisters if Neena was any judge of the way their cheekbones fell at the same angle and their eyes were tipped at the corner in the same way (as if they were constantly on the brink of smiling) - sat working upon a large kaftan cover. The sheet of woven fabric was far too large for a single hawe covering but when one of them flicked out the long blanket in order to find a better position for her weaving, Neena was able to see the rounded belly that had been hidden beneath. One of the two was expecting and clearly preparing the fabrics needed for her husband to construct a larger hawe for the whole family...
Not only was it torture to not stop and witness these little moments of life around her, it was also a benefit to keep her feet moving. There were several moments in which Neena's eye caught that of someone coming towards her with something broken or was raising a hand as if to summon her to their side. Unlike when she had stamped down hard upon the desire to run and hide when it had been Jhameetza calling her over, it was on these occasions that Neena skittered around another hawe and carried on walking at a decent and rather rapid pace. She kept her gaze locked forwards and ensured that her arms were swinging with regimental precision as she went about her way, determined to look like she had been set upon a mission of much importance.
No slave would walk in such a way unless they were on a dire needed duty for an important member of the tribe, surely?
At least, this was the impression she hoped and (seemed to) manage to convince in the minds of those who were trying to catch her attention for, while she saw several seem willing to try and halt her, none of them actually went so far as to block her path, grab her to a standstill or command her to stop - all and any of which she would have had to obey as a slave of their people. Instead, however, she was permitted to go on her merry way, across several more rows of hawe tents, around a barely boisterous fight between some pre-teen boys that she had determinedly stayed clear of (she had tried to play mediator in fights before and it never seemed to go very well - there was a reason she translated rather than was the one to come up with the actual words when it came to diplomacy), and on towards where several much larger hawes were set up in order to store the tribe's universal supplies.
Those tents in question, however, as well as being significantly larger than most of the personal and residential constructs in the rest of the settlement, were also guarded. So that members of the tribe didn't make the catastrophic mistake of using resources unnecessarily or were stupid enough to damage the contents within. Whilst it was unlikely that anyone in the tribe would be idiotic enough to - say - walk into the hawe with an open flame so they could see and risk setting fire to every wooden crate of food and skin of water inside - there were times when humans were stupid. And it was naive to risk the lives and health and stomachs of the entire tribe on the hope that no-one would make such a human mistake. Hence the guards.
Which, of course, meant that Neena was forced to prove that she was there with good cause.
"I've been instructed by the Leier to come and collect water for the trainees." Neena stated, her quick tongue and life as a runaway thief making it easy for her to lie with simple alacrity and a convincingly innocent lilt to her words. The guardsmen looked to one another as if to see if they weren't the only one to believe her but Neena said nothing further to try and prove her case.
This was where most people went wrong in lying. When sensed that their words weren't holding enough water or worrying that those whom they were trying to convince weren't buying the untruths they were selling, they doubled-down... they sought to convince those they were lying to by elaborating. Whether it was adding to the lie or making the other person feel guilty or stupid for not believing them or - even worse - threatening what might happen to them if they didn't believe them and they turned out to be telling the truth... Any of it was a desperate plea to be believed and with a lot of people, their subconscious mind picked up on it. In short, there was no benefit to adding to a lie unless someone outright called you on it. Confident, truthful people didn't need to convince others. Because reality was on their side.
Ergo, Neena said nothing when the men turned to one another for confirmation and instead simply stood, hands on hips, posture casual, and her expression neutral. As if she knew they had to come to a decision together and then when they made the - right - call to let her inside the supply tent they would tell her so. No need to hurry them, no need to pester. Because she was in the right.
It was an impression and confidence game that, eventually, after a moment of indecision and a nod between the two Zaire warriors, allowed her admittance to the tent.
Shifting their arms and curling their biceps, the men moved the two spears they had been holding in a cross to bar the entrance to the hawe upright and therefore out of the way, so that Neena might step forward. Reaching out, she slapped one of them upon the shoulder in a so-casual-it-was-humorous gesture of gratitude with a token - "Thank you, good sir." - and then swept aside the long covering of the doorway to her right so as to duck in to the cavernous insides of the largest hawe she had ever been inside of.
The supple hawe was actually several placed together side by side. In its centre, where the walls of the individual tents has come together, the poles were in place but the sheets of kaftan and tapestry had been tied up upon the seams of the roof so that they were open to one another - leaving in its belly an enclosed space larger than anything Neena had seen in any other tribe and separated only by the wooden legs dotted here and there.
Not every Bedoan tribe had a supply tent. The Somalu hadn't when Neena had been a part of their tribe and she certainly couldn't see the Mekaki having one given their size as the largest tribe in the Bedoan lands. On the flip side, given their stature as the smallest, Neena couldn't imagine the Nubi not having one.
In general, the people of each Bedoan tribe kept to themselves. Their kept their own family, their hunted for them, fed them, wove their own clothes and monitored their own structures, hawes and homes. The tribe their belonged to wasn't their family - their blood was - but the tribe itself gave a collective sense of culture, security and purpose; a direction that they could follow in and not feel totally isolated or alone. Not to mention it provided more people. More people and the more likelihood of successful hunts. The more people and the more chances for people to marry, have children and continue the family line. The tribes were a means of survival and a sense of belonging but they were not families that felt honour-bound to take care of one another in the way a parent did a child.
Taking care of each other, however, was exactly what the smaller tribes were forced to do. In the same way that larger numbers produced more chance of food and safety, the smaller tribes had this more a necessity than a bonus. The fact that togetherness was a necessity for survival rather than choice - in the same way that a child fundamentally needed its parent - meant that there was that binding, that honour, that meant they had to take care of one another.
And taking care of one another, when resources like water, food and roofs that could protect you from a burning and boiling sun were in short supply, meant sharing. The families that were particularly good at hunting and could find more livestock than they could eat themselves - they gave the excess to the tribe. The same went for those who lived nearer the water, or those who could weave faster or sturdier fabrics for clothing or homes... or those who went scavenging and foraging in lands close by and came back with more supplies than their own immediate family would need.
And all of that excess property, resources or needs all needed somewhere to be kept. Somewhere where the numbers and supplies could be monitored so that they went to the tribe in a controlled manner. Somewhere that could be guarded from the potential stupidity of younger (or sometimes older) members of the tribe, so that it wouldn't be damaged. Somewhere where the excess that was not necessary to one family could save the lives of another.
Hence, the supply hawes.
Which was why there was so much stock here.
Not only was there food, water, weapons, fabrics and cargo, but - given the Zaire's proficiency in certain ways - physician and healer resources like medicines, cots, sheeting and bandages, dried herbs and bottled pastes. There were even some books and parchments on anatomy and medicinal practices. The Zaire were a learned people and with learning came the supplies required to do so. And rather than allow one generation to learn the information and then pass it down in a way that would bastardise the original lesson, allowing future practitioners to only know the edited version, it was clear that they kept the paperwork of the original teachers and ensured that all could learn in the same ways, keeping all other practice and experience as additional information, rather than the only.
Neena was impressed.
She was also a little concerned. How in the heck was she supposed to find what she was looking for in a hawe that could sleep twenty, when everything was piled high?
Luckily, she was a smart person and so were those who had been charged with setting up the hawe in this particular campsite (though Neena did not envy them their job of having to unpack and set up all of this stuff). Because in their efforts to set up the supply hawe, they had also applied logic and was easy for Neena to quickly spot exactly how they had organised the resources...
Foods were together, weaponry in another corner, the clothes and fabrics rolled and stored together in little pyramids, whilst books and medical supplies were in wooden boxes stacked together and marked with vlek upon the sides of which each one actually contained.
The water skins that she was looking for were also together and easy to find.
Several stakes had been driven into the sands in the centre of the left-hand section of the hawe. From these short pillars of wood - each with little arms attached as if they were once thick boughs from which branches had grown - were the tied strings of several dozen water skins. They hung still until Neena approached and then with her fingers trying to latch beneath the strings of two select skin sacks, she jostled those still on the pole and heard the sloshing from within their bellies. These were certainly water skins as opposed to continuing something like oil or heated vlek - neither of which swooshed and slopped with that kind of ease and noise.
Careful not to know the others or cause the heavy contents of each to swing and dislodge their anchor from the sands below, Neena slid her index fingers beneath the little ropes that held the sacks closed and lifted them free of their brethren. Tying the strings of each together and then throwing one over her shoulder so that she could take the weight like a saddle bag, Neena ignored the sharp little sting of the rope cutting into her shoulder and turned to head for the door.
Some in her position - a slave, a woman who hoped to run away for freedom, a thief - might have taken more than was needed. Or at least would be expected to by those who witnessed her entering the hawe. Instead, however, Neena ignored everything that she wasn't there to get and took only what Jhameetza had been concerned that the Leier and his trainee warriors might need.
Neena was a thief when she needed to be and would steal to survive and eat. But she never stole from those who needed it and she never took what she herself was not absolutely in need of personally. So, the supple hawe sparked zero temptation or desire to pilfer in her heart and she was perfectly happy to leave the hawe in her own time with only the two sacks in hand.
"See ya, boys!" Neena called in a sing-song voice, as she swept the entrance flap of the hawe out of her way, let it drop behind her and continued walking, waving a hand above her head and flashing a flirtatious grin over her shoulder. Neither of the guardsmen seemed impressed and simply extended their arms once more to cross their spears over the entrance and seemed to watch after her. Probably to check that she was about to head in the direction she was supposed to with the skins she had so apparently collected on behalf of the Leier.
Not at all worried about what they would see - for Neena was going to go exactly where they expected her to - Neena passed by the central open space where a bonfire was constructed every time for the people of the tribe - the burnt pieces of wood and sand stained black marking the space that had been used the previous night - and headed down a slippery sand dune and out into an open area where the ground was more compacted.
It was here that a large group of the tribe - mostly curious young boys or older men with legacies to be maintained by those who stood just fifty yards away with the Leier - had settled in to play spectator. Some of them looked up upon Neena's approach and glanced hopefully at the water skins she held but Neena kept her gaze away from them - a silent communication that what she carried wasn't for them. Instead, she struck out on her own, towards the trainees, sparking several sets of eyes to spring wide.
With what appeared to be a total lack of care or self-awareness, Neena strode out directly across the path of several of the trainee fighters, their arms stilling mid throw as she passed, fearful of hitting her with their blades. Several had already loosed their throwing knives and she simply walked by anyway, her experience as a knife thrower, juggled and travelling performer telling her easily when to move between the warriors to avoid blades hitting flesh. To anyone who didn't know her background, she probably looked positively suicidal. When, in actual fact, she was entirely safe and her knowledge and experience with blades kept her so, all the way up to the Leier who was watching her with a combination of shock and nausea.
Before the man could say anything, Neena unhooked the bags from where she had held them upon her shoulder and held them out to the man, the rope stretched across the insides of her fingers and the bags hanging from either side of her hands.
"I heard you've been training for a few hours and might need these?" Neena suggested, happy to admit (if he asked) that Jhameetza had sent her but, given she had no idea if Hasani even knew the old woman that seemed irrelevant information to tell him right off the bat. "I collected them from the tribe's supple hawe, I hope that's alright?" The offerings of the water skins came with a kind smile of compassion that suggested total innocence in her efforts. Rather than the idea that this whole venture had been to avoid doing any more cleaning...
The day had been hard so far. As a tribe slave, Neena was effectively owned by the collective - not a single individual. But while that might make it seem as if she had a slightly easier life, not held to the whims and potentially malicious nature of a single owner, it also meant that she was the slave of what felt like a thousand bosses. She was forced to meet the expectations and capitulate to the instructions of every tribal member. Else they could appeal to their leaders that she had been anarchical in her behaviour and be sentenced to punishment for insubordination. And punishments for slaves generally involved a long piece of leather and a strong arm. Which, in this heat was twice the torture it sounded.
As such, today had been a particularly bad day to be a tribal slave. There was a lot going on - mostly in preparation for the fact that they would be leaving their particular encampment area soon. Which meant there were a lot of tasks to be done. Blankets and kaftans to be cleaned, tents and hawes to be fixed, clothing to be mended, the sands to be eradicated of the dung left by horses and camels or the burns created by their camp stoves and fires. The Bedoan people believed in the sanctity of the earth their ancestors had turned to the hot sands beneath their feet and were cautious about their impact upon it, ensuring that the land was left as they found it upon first settling there.
Neena had been one of the slaves expected to ensure that this happened.
Not to mention the fact that her skills as a physician and knowledge as a healer - which had somehow gotten out and started to spread through the Zaire tribe like wildfire - meant that everyone wanted her to come and look upon them. They wanted to be assured that their cough, their rash, their bum leg or whatever else injury or insult was currently plaguing them would not be dangerously or negatively affected by the journey ahead.
It was hard to do anything upon the move, when journeying across the sands, because delays were dangerous. It meant longer time before they reached oases or watering holes. And when the nomadic people were never a hundred percent sure if the holes that they had left behind them would still be there on their next visit - and whether they would have to continue journeying on without water for several more days - the delay of even a few hours could be severely costly.
Which meant that everything had to be done before leaving.
After a morning at a local stream - the water too dirty for drinking but clean enough to wash bed bugs and animals from the kaftan sheets - Neena had then spent the majority of her time until midday looking at the maladies of the young and old. Elderly women wanted their joints checked over and the mothers of young boys wanted runny noses looked at. When it came to some of them, Neena wasn't sure why they bothered, given that it was clear to her that they would be sending themselves or their children to the healer's tent as soon as she assured them that they were fine. Patients, she had found, only ever wanted to be told bad news if they needed to believe it. And good news when it was a lie.
Leaving her eye rolls to be reserved for only her internal thoughts, Neena was stretching out her back to several cracking sounds as the sun continued to rise to its highest point over her head. She had spent her time since dawn running around to the tune of what felt like every other tribal member and felt the need to perform as the perfect slave before the eyes of everyone she met.
Like she had thought... it had been a bad day to be a tribal slave.
This was, however, not always the case. Whilst Neena was never allowed to forget that every member of the Zaire tribe outranked her and could be considered her owner, it was common that she would be given to a particular person for a day or a series of hours and be able to say no to other tasks and requests when they clashed with that of her current monitor. With the days leading to their departure, however? Such a rule went out the window and every task became of equal importance and priority. Ergo, unable to be refused by someone as lowly as her - a simple slave girl.
Exhausted to the bone, aching across her back muscles and rubbed raw upon her palms from the cleaning of roughly woven material, Neena was quick to spot yet another Zaire member who was calling her over with another task to be completed and she felt her rebellious spirit revolt. For a moment, she was eager to duck behind the nearest hawe, risk the thread of punishment and reprimand and simply claim not to have seen the little old woman who was beckoning her towards her with a wizened hand.
Just a quick nip to the left and a low bearing head and she could have darted along behind the haws of Saani and Milana and be off down towards the central campfires in no time, away from the demanding locals in the area she currently occupied.
But noticing who the woman was that sought her aid, Neena's compassion won out over her selfish desire to give her back and hands a break.
Jhameetza was a woman of good stories and a wicked tongue and sense of humour that Neena had become fond of since she had arrived with the Zaire. She had fixed the woman's hawe a few times, collected wood for her to burn on the coldest of nights when her joints hurt and collected food for her when walking was too painful and she was unable to reach where the meat was being cooked. And every time she sought to help the woman; she was rewarded with impressive stories of the Zaire tribe dating back for multiple generations. The woman made her think of her friend Hesiodos whom she hadn't seen in a few years and couldn't help but think would adore the old crone and the way she smiled with only three teeth.
Accepting that the kindness, humour and entertainment that old Jhameetza had shown her since she had arrived with the Zaire six weeks ago was worth whatever request she had of her now, Neena darted over and folded herself down to the sand in front of where the old woman sat huddled in several layers of kaftan despite the heat. With one thrown over her head, she appeared as if she were a wise and haggard face staring out of a pile of laundry.
"What can I do for you, Jhameetza?" Neena asked, crumpling her legs and feet beneath her as she fell to her knees on the sands and brought her hands together in a demure gesture upon her thighs. She grinned broadly. "You need me to spy on someone again?"
Another fun thing about Jhameetza was her rebellious streak. Neena couldn't imagine what the hag had been like in her youth, with enough energy to run around committing espionage herself, but since she wasn't able to do so much of the speedy sneaky thing herself these days, Neena appeared to have been the pair of healthy legs that she had adopted for her own purposes. More than once, the woman had plied Neena into becoming her eyes and ears and sneaking around the camp to see if her grandson-in-law was cheating on her delicate flower of a granddaughter, or if her great-grandson by another child was keeping up with his studies or simply running around with his friends in the dunes.
Even without Neena, Jhameetza seemed to know exactly what was going on and where and how, but with her she was able to catch criminals in the act of their wicked, wicked ways. Something that she enjoyed doing with a crooked and ill-matching smile.
'Kenta is training with the Leier, today.' Jhameetza told her, her voice ragged and old but not croaking or wheezing as so many her age might be. Neena had thrown social convention out of the window once and asked the old girl how many years she had been around but she had just cackled wickedly and told the girl 'long enough'. 'He and the other boys will be thirsty and I know he'll not have thought to take something.'
Kenta was one of Jhameetza's sixteen great-grandchildren (all of whom, Neena had learnt the names of) and was, from what she could work out, a bit of a rascal. She had a vague impression of a broad forehead and large eyebrows that she had yet to fully grow into despite being sixteen but further detail on his appearance was a little blurry in Neena's memory. She had only met him the once.
"You want me to take some to them?" Neena asked the old woman, confirming what it was she was requesting. When the old girl nodded with tired sort of look in her eye, Neena couldn't help but smile back, reaching out to place the back of her hand upon the woman's forehead and checking nonchalantly that fever didn't accompany that tiredness and it was just old age talking, not her health.
"I'm sure I can manage that, my old friend." She said with a nod of approval before letting her hand drop and unfolding her legs from beneath her until she was, once again, standing.
The old woman smiled at her, her lips together in a gesture of true thanks rather than cheeky conspiracy and Neena felt a warmth bloom in her chest. This was another reason she liked Jhameetza. Regardless of any spying, teasing and puppet-mistress ways that she enacted over the tribe from her little corner of the place, Neena knew that none of it was malicious in nature. Jhameetza - despite the fact that she couldn't hold her arms up for long periods of time - liked to try and embrace the entire community. She looked out for them. Seeing herself as some kind of wise old owl, looking out with a gaze that was as sharp as her talons that now hadn't seen the light of day for some years.
"I'll grab some water skins from our supply and take them down to the trainees. I'm sure they'll have enough, but best to be sure." She said with an assuring thumbs up and resting a palm on the old lady's bundled shoulder. Jhameetza reached up and placed her own hand, warped with age and wizened by the sun, upon Neena's youthful touch and chaffed the back of her fingers with a soft few pats.
'You're a good girl.' The woman told her, prompting Neena to place a hand to her shoulder as if she had been shot through with an arrow.
"Jhameetza, how dare you!" She claimed with mocking jest. "You know I'm as bad as they come." Neena stuck her tongue out and pressed it between her teeth, winked at the woman and then watched as the mirth in her own humour sparked in the little pile of cloth and set Jhameetza cackling.
'Go!' The woman cried, in a soft but decisive instruction that was dulled only from the fact that it came from a snuggly warm chest deep within her blankets. 'Before I tan your hide for your cheek!'
Knowing that the crone would do absolutely no such thing but loving the energy and liveliness with which she threatened, Neena was quick to dance upright, pull her feet together, straighten her back and salute to the old woman as she had seen Grecian soldiers do so, with a fist upon their chest. She then hop, skip and a-jumped herself into action and took off at a quick enough pace that she could maintain her speed all the way to the supplied tent in good time to appease the old woman she left huddled out from of her hawe, people-watching and surveying her herd.
The supply tent itself was on the opposite side of the tribe and when the Zaire was a good few hundred strong, it took a while before Neena made it over there. On the way she was witness to a thousand different spectacles of human interaction that she would have loved to stay and watch - for experience and people were the two things in life that she lived for. But instead, she was kept to the task she had been bestowed by her old friend and she could not stop long when each snippet of life and love entered her peripheral.
There was the young mother demanding whether or not her very young son had decided to try to eat the vlek paste for his sister's birthday celebrations the next day. Judging by the emphatic shaking of the boy's head he was clearly denying it despite not realising he had the black paste all around his mouth. Then there was the older gentleman - perhaps a grandson to the three boys at his knee - teaching them how to appropriately take care of their weaponry; how to tend to the metal and ensure that such instruments did not rust or tarnish in the heat. A little further on, two women – sisters if Neena was any judge of the way their cheekbones fell at the same angle and their eyes were tipped at the corner in the same way (as if they were constantly on the brink of smiling) - sat working upon a large kaftan cover. The sheet of woven fabric was far too large for a single hawe covering but when one of them flicked out the long blanket in order to find a better position for her weaving, Neena was able to see the rounded belly that had been hidden beneath. One of the two was expecting and clearly preparing the fabrics needed for her husband to construct a larger hawe for the whole family...
Not only was it torture to not stop and witness these little moments of life around her, it was also a benefit to keep her feet moving. There were several moments in which Neena's eye caught that of someone coming towards her with something broken or was raising a hand as if to summon her to their side. Unlike when she had stamped down hard upon the desire to run and hide when it had been Jhameetza calling her over, it was on these occasions that Neena skittered around another hawe and carried on walking at a decent and rather rapid pace. She kept her gaze locked forwards and ensured that her arms were swinging with regimental precision as she went about her way, determined to look like she had been set upon a mission of much importance.
No slave would walk in such a way unless they were on a dire needed duty for an important member of the tribe, surely?
At least, this was the impression she hoped and (seemed to) manage to convince in the minds of those who were trying to catch her attention for, while she saw several seem willing to try and halt her, none of them actually went so far as to block her path, grab her to a standstill or command her to stop - all and any of which she would have had to obey as a slave of their people. Instead, however, she was permitted to go on her merry way, across several more rows of hawe tents, around a barely boisterous fight between some pre-teen boys that she had determinedly stayed clear of (she had tried to play mediator in fights before and it never seemed to go very well - there was a reason she translated rather than was the one to come up with the actual words when it came to diplomacy), and on towards where several much larger hawes were set up in order to store the tribe's universal supplies.
Those tents in question, however, as well as being significantly larger than most of the personal and residential constructs in the rest of the settlement, were also guarded. So that members of the tribe didn't make the catastrophic mistake of using resources unnecessarily or were stupid enough to damage the contents within. Whilst it was unlikely that anyone in the tribe would be idiotic enough to - say - walk into the hawe with an open flame so they could see and risk setting fire to every wooden crate of food and skin of water inside - there were times when humans were stupid. And it was naive to risk the lives and health and stomachs of the entire tribe on the hope that no-one would make such a human mistake. Hence the guards.
Which, of course, meant that Neena was forced to prove that she was there with good cause.
"I've been instructed by the Leier to come and collect water for the trainees." Neena stated, her quick tongue and life as a runaway thief making it easy for her to lie with simple alacrity and a convincingly innocent lilt to her words. The guardsmen looked to one another as if to see if they weren't the only one to believe her but Neena said nothing further to try and prove her case.
This was where most people went wrong in lying. When sensed that their words weren't holding enough water or worrying that those whom they were trying to convince weren't buying the untruths they were selling, they doubled-down... they sought to convince those they were lying to by elaborating. Whether it was adding to the lie or making the other person feel guilty or stupid for not believing them or - even worse - threatening what might happen to them if they didn't believe them and they turned out to be telling the truth... Any of it was a desperate plea to be believed and with a lot of people, their subconscious mind picked up on it. In short, there was no benefit to adding to a lie unless someone outright called you on it. Confident, truthful people didn't need to convince others. Because reality was on their side.
Ergo, Neena said nothing when the men turned to one another for confirmation and instead simply stood, hands on hips, posture casual, and her expression neutral. As if she knew they had to come to a decision together and then when they made the - right - call to let her inside the supply tent they would tell her so. No need to hurry them, no need to pester. Because she was in the right.
It was an impression and confidence game that, eventually, after a moment of indecision and a nod between the two Zaire warriors, allowed her admittance to the tent.
Shifting their arms and curling their biceps, the men moved the two spears they had been holding in a cross to bar the entrance to the hawe upright and therefore out of the way, so that Neena might step forward. Reaching out, she slapped one of them upon the shoulder in a so-casual-it-was-humorous gesture of gratitude with a token - "Thank you, good sir." - and then swept aside the long covering of the doorway to her right so as to duck in to the cavernous insides of the largest hawe she had ever been inside of.
The supple hawe was actually several placed together side by side. In its centre, where the walls of the individual tents has come together, the poles were in place but the sheets of kaftan and tapestry had been tied up upon the seams of the roof so that they were open to one another - leaving in its belly an enclosed space larger than anything Neena had seen in any other tribe and separated only by the wooden legs dotted here and there.
Not every Bedoan tribe had a supply tent. The Somalu hadn't when Neena had been a part of their tribe and she certainly couldn't see the Mekaki having one given their size as the largest tribe in the Bedoan lands. On the flip side, given their stature as the smallest, Neena couldn't imagine the Nubi not having one.
In general, the people of each Bedoan tribe kept to themselves. Their kept their own family, their hunted for them, fed them, wove their own clothes and monitored their own structures, hawes and homes. The tribe their belonged to wasn't their family - their blood was - but the tribe itself gave a collective sense of culture, security and purpose; a direction that they could follow in and not feel totally isolated or alone. Not to mention it provided more people. More people and the more likelihood of successful hunts. The more people and the more chances for people to marry, have children and continue the family line. The tribes were a means of survival and a sense of belonging but they were not families that felt honour-bound to take care of one another in the way a parent did a child.
Taking care of each other, however, was exactly what the smaller tribes were forced to do. In the same way that larger numbers produced more chance of food and safety, the smaller tribes had this more a necessity than a bonus. The fact that togetherness was a necessity for survival rather than choice - in the same way that a child fundamentally needed its parent - meant that there was that binding, that honour, that meant they had to take care of one another.
And taking care of one another, when resources like water, food and roofs that could protect you from a burning and boiling sun were in short supply, meant sharing. The families that were particularly good at hunting and could find more livestock than they could eat themselves - they gave the excess to the tribe. The same went for those who lived nearer the water, or those who could weave faster or sturdier fabrics for clothing or homes... or those who went scavenging and foraging in lands close by and came back with more supplies than their own immediate family would need.
And all of that excess property, resources or needs all needed somewhere to be kept. Somewhere where the numbers and supplies could be monitored so that they went to the tribe in a controlled manner. Somewhere that could be guarded from the potential stupidity of younger (or sometimes older) members of the tribe, so that it wouldn't be damaged. Somewhere where the excess that was not necessary to one family could save the lives of another.
Hence, the supply hawes.
Which was why there was so much stock here.
Not only was there food, water, weapons, fabrics and cargo, but - given the Zaire's proficiency in certain ways - physician and healer resources like medicines, cots, sheeting and bandages, dried herbs and bottled pastes. There were even some books and parchments on anatomy and medicinal practices. The Zaire were a learned people and with learning came the supplies required to do so. And rather than allow one generation to learn the information and then pass it down in a way that would bastardise the original lesson, allowing future practitioners to only know the edited version, it was clear that they kept the paperwork of the original teachers and ensured that all could learn in the same ways, keeping all other practice and experience as additional information, rather than the only.
Neena was impressed.
She was also a little concerned. How in the heck was she supposed to find what she was looking for in a hawe that could sleep twenty, when everything was piled high?
Luckily, she was a smart person and so were those who had been charged with setting up the hawe in this particular campsite (though Neena did not envy them their job of having to unpack and set up all of this stuff). Because in their efforts to set up the supply hawe, they had also applied logic and was easy for Neena to quickly spot exactly how they had organised the resources...
Foods were together, weaponry in another corner, the clothes and fabrics rolled and stored together in little pyramids, whilst books and medical supplies were in wooden boxes stacked together and marked with vlek upon the sides of which each one actually contained.
The water skins that she was looking for were also together and easy to find.
Several stakes had been driven into the sands in the centre of the left-hand section of the hawe. From these short pillars of wood - each with little arms attached as if they were once thick boughs from which branches had grown - were the tied strings of several dozen water skins. They hung still until Neena approached and then with her fingers trying to latch beneath the strings of two select skin sacks, she jostled those still on the pole and heard the sloshing from within their bellies. These were certainly water skins as opposed to continuing something like oil or heated vlek - neither of which swooshed and slopped with that kind of ease and noise.
Careful not to know the others or cause the heavy contents of each to swing and dislodge their anchor from the sands below, Neena slid her index fingers beneath the little ropes that held the sacks closed and lifted them free of their brethren. Tying the strings of each together and then throwing one over her shoulder so that she could take the weight like a saddle bag, Neena ignored the sharp little sting of the rope cutting into her shoulder and turned to head for the door.
Some in her position - a slave, a woman who hoped to run away for freedom, a thief - might have taken more than was needed. Or at least would be expected to by those who witnessed her entering the hawe. Instead, however, Neena ignored everything that she wasn't there to get and took only what Jhameetza had been concerned that the Leier and his trainee warriors might need.
Neena was a thief when she needed to be and would steal to survive and eat. But she never stole from those who needed it and she never took what she herself was not absolutely in need of personally. So, the supple hawe sparked zero temptation or desire to pilfer in her heart and she was perfectly happy to leave the hawe in her own time with only the two sacks in hand.
"See ya, boys!" Neena called in a sing-song voice, as she swept the entrance flap of the hawe out of her way, let it drop behind her and continued walking, waving a hand above her head and flashing a flirtatious grin over her shoulder. Neither of the guardsmen seemed impressed and simply extended their arms once more to cross their spears over the entrance and seemed to watch after her. Probably to check that she was about to head in the direction she was supposed to with the skins she had so apparently collected on behalf of the Leier.
Not at all worried about what they would see - for Neena was going to go exactly where they expected her to - Neena passed by the central open space where a bonfire was constructed every time for the people of the tribe - the burnt pieces of wood and sand stained black marking the space that had been used the previous night - and headed down a slippery sand dune and out into an open area where the ground was more compacted.
It was here that a large group of the tribe - mostly curious young boys or older men with legacies to be maintained by those who stood just fifty yards away with the Leier - had settled in to play spectator. Some of them looked up upon Neena's approach and glanced hopefully at the water skins she held but Neena kept her gaze away from them - a silent communication that what she carried wasn't for them. Instead, she struck out on her own, towards the trainees, sparking several sets of eyes to spring wide.
With what appeared to be a total lack of care or self-awareness, Neena strode out directly across the path of several of the trainee fighters, their arms stilling mid throw as she passed, fearful of hitting her with their blades. Several had already loosed their throwing knives and she simply walked by anyway, her experience as a knife thrower, juggled and travelling performer telling her easily when to move between the warriors to avoid blades hitting flesh. To anyone who didn't know her background, she probably looked positively suicidal. When, in actual fact, she was entirely safe and her knowledge and experience with blades kept her so, all the way up to the Leier who was watching her with a combination of shock and nausea.
Before the man could say anything, Neena unhooked the bags from where she had held them upon her shoulder and held them out to the man, the rope stretched across the insides of her fingers and the bags hanging from either side of her hands.
"I heard you've been training for a few hours and might need these?" Neena suggested, happy to admit (if he asked) that Jhameetza had sent her but, given she had no idea if Hasani even knew the old woman that seemed irrelevant information to tell him right off the bat. "I collected them from the tribe's supple hawe, I hope that's alright?" The offerings of the water skins came with a kind smile of compassion that suggested total innocence in her efforts. Rather than the idea that this whole venture had been to avoid doing any more cleaning...
The practice itself was simple, and Hasani had to do little by way of actually teaching any of the tribe's young warriors. The other warriors, some of which Hasani had trained and some of which he had trained with, and a few who had trained him, took much of the responsibility. Not that the leier wanted to be lazy, but from this point on, his job was to observe the warriors and see which ones were going to pass and which ones needed a little more work.
The ones who needed more work were his targets of the day. Those who did not need the help would be allowed to graduate to the next task. But those who did need the help would be stuck with the leier. Simply because Hasani was not going to accept sub par skills in his warriors if they were to ever come to conflict. Conflict was not simply meant for just tribe warfare. The desert itself would fight you if given the chance. The beasts of the sands were not kind.
Hasani would not risk his people on the lacking skills of a few boys. Those who had not put in the effort to meet his personal standards would be drilled, day after day, until they did meet his standards or flunked out of their training. It happened very rarely, but Hasani had denied some boys the ability to remain warriors for the tribe simply because they did not have the drive or willpower to keep up. Was that a bad thing? Not exactly. However, it usually meant they were given the more menial jobs or sent to the healers for a different sort of training. Many that Hasani had denied further training had made even better healers than they would have ever warriors.
He was somewhat proud of that keen eye and the acceptance that not every boy was built nor cut out for being a hunter or warrior.
The leier was walking the length of the training field, back and forth, back and forth, observing the form of the boys. He watched for every blade that missed and bounced off a target. He look for every blade that missed its mark. These were all things to consider. Accuracy was just as important in warfare as it was in medicine.
It was the stride of the young, bold slave girl through the middle of the training group that left Hasani momentarily speechless. Then angry. Then worried that one of those boys was going to slit her throat on accident. Dropping his hands to his sides, he took a few steps forward, his expression turning to one that was more glower than jovial smile. Was this girl insane? She was surely acting like it, especially carrying such a heavy load upon her back. By the time Neena came to stand before him, he was nearly seething, the anger and irritation clearly shown on his features as he stared down at the woman.
The declaration that she thought they would need water only seemed to irk him further and he had to breathe deeply out through his nose. Jabari had met the two of them, his own dark eyes wild with seething rage, just as Hasani's were. When the man went to speak, Hasani put a hand up to stop him before a single word could escape his mouth.
"While the tribe appreciates your service and compassionate thinking, Neena," Hasani started, his tone a little venomous to show just how angry he was with her, "If you ever walk in front of a blade like that again, I will have you whipped. There is no reason to put your own life in danger when you could have just walked around the training ring," Hasani scolded her, almost savagely. The leier had to breathe out a few more times to come the tension in his shoulders and comb the anger from his gaze and his words. "The tribe values you, and your blood is something no one, especially young budding warriors, wants on their hands," Hasani's tone took on a softer sound as he reasoned with her.
"Now, set the skins there and wait here. I'll have a task for you once the boys are done," he said it loud enough so that everyone around him would hear and know that she was off limits for what tasks needed done. Ask the other slaves, this girl was his for the moment. He still thought about cuffing her about the back of the head to get his point across about putting her in danger, but his order for her to stay was his silent invitation to make it up to him.
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The practice itself was simple, and Hasani had to do little by way of actually teaching any of the tribe's young warriors. The other warriors, some of which Hasani had trained and some of which he had trained with, and a few who had trained him, took much of the responsibility. Not that the leier wanted to be lazy, but from this point on, his job was to observe the warriors and see which ones were going to pass and which ones needed a little more work.
The ones who needed more work were his targets of the day. Those who did not need the help would be allowed to graduate to the next task. But those who did need the help would be stuck with the leier. Simply because Hasani was not going to accept sub par skills in his warriors if they were to ever come to conflict. Conflict was not simply meant for just tribe warfare. The desert itself would fight you if given the chance. The beasts of the sands were not kind.
Hasani would not risk his people on the lacking skills of a few boys. Those who had not put in the effort to meet his personal standards would be drilled, day after day, until they did meet his standards or flunked out of their training. It happened very rarely, but Hasani had denied some boys the ability to remain warriors for the tribe simply because they did not have the drive or willpower to keep up. Was that a bad thing? Not exactly. However, it usually meant they were given the more menial jobs or sent to the healers for a different sort of training. Many that Hasani had denied further training had made even better healers than they would have ever warriors.
He was somewhat proud of that keen eye and the acceptance that not every boy was built nor cut out for being a hunter or warrior.
The leier was walking the length of the training field, back and forth, back and forth, observing the form of the boys. He watched for every blade that missed and bounced off a target. He look for every blade that missed its mark. These were all things to consider. Accuracy was just as important in warfare as it was in medicine.
It was the stride of the young, bold slave girl through the middle of the training group that left Hasani momentarily speechless. Then angry. Then worried that one of those boys was going to slit her throat on accident. Dropping his hands to his sides, he took a few steps forward, his expression turning to one that was more glower than jovial smile. Was this girl insane? She was surely acting like it, especially carrying such a heavy load upon her back. By the time Neena came to stand before him, he was nearly seething, the anger and irritation clearly shown on his features as he stared down at the woman.
The declaration that she thought they would need water only seemed to irk him further and he had to breathe deeply out through his nose. Jabari had met the two of them, his own dark eyes wild with seething rage, just as Hasani's were. When the man went to speak, Hasani put a hand up to stop him before a single word could escape his mouth.
"While the tribe appreciates your service and compassionate thinking, Neena," Hasani started, his tone a little venomous to show just how angry he was with her, "If you ever walk in front of a blade like that again, I will have you whipped. There is no reason to put your own life in danger when you could have just walked around the training ring," Hasani scolded her, almost savagely. The leier had to breathe out a few more times to come the tension in his shoulders and comb the anger from his gaze and his words. "The tribe values you, and your blood is something no one, especially young budding warriors, wants on their hands," Hasani's tone took on a softer sound as he reasoned with her.
"Now, set the skins there and wait here. I'll have a task for you once the boys are done," he said it loud enough so that everyone around him would hear and know that she was off limits for what tasks needed done. Ask the other slaves, this girl was his for the moment. He still thought about cuffing her about the back of the head to get his point across about putting her in danger, but his order for her to stay was his silent invitation to make it up to him.
The practice itself was simple, and Hasani had to do little by way of actually teaching any of the tribe's young warriors. The other warriors, some of which Hasani had trained and some of which he had trained with, and a few who had trained him, took much of the responsibility. Not that the leier wanted to be lazy, but from this point on, his job was to observe the warriors and see which ones were going to pass and which ones needed a little more work.
The ones who needed more work were his targets of the day. Those who did not need the help would be allowed to graduate to the next task. But those who did need the help would be stuck with the leier. Simply because Hasani was not going to accept sub par skills in his warriors if they were to ever come to conflict. Conflict was not simply meant for just tribe warfare. The desert itself would fight you if given the chance. The beasts of the sands were not kind.
Hasani would not risk his people on the lacking skills of a few boys. Those who had not put in the effort to meet his personal standards would be drilled, day after day, until they did meet his standards or flunked out of their training. It happened very rarely, but Hasani had denied some boys the ability to remain warriors for the tribe simply because they did not have the drive or willpower to keep up. Was that a bad thing? Not exactly. However, it usually meant they were given the more menial jobs or sent to the healers for a different sort of training. Many that Hasani had denied further training had made even better healers than they would have ever warriors.
He was somewhat proud of that keen eye and the acceptance that not every boy was built nor cut out for being a hunter or warrior.
The leier was walking the length of the training field, back and forth, back and forth, observing the form of the boys. He watched for every blade that missed and bounced off a target. He look for every blade that missed its mark. These were all things to consider. Accuracy was just as important in warfare as it was in medicine.
It was the stride of the young, bold slave girl through the middle of the training group that left Hasani momentarily speechless. Then angry. Then worried that one of those boys was going to slit her throat on accident. Dropping his hands to his sides, he took a few steps forward, his expression turning to one that was more glower than jovial smile. Was this girl insane? She was surely acting like it, especially carrying such a heavy load upon her back. By the time Neena came to stand before him, he was nearly seething, the anger and irritation clearly shown on his features as he stared down at the woman.
The declaration that she thought they would need water only seemed to irk him further and he had to breathe deeply out through his nose. Jabari had met the two of them, his own dark eyes wild with seething rage, just as Hasani's were. When the man went to speak, Hasani put a hand up to stop him before a single word could escape his mouth.
"While the tribe appreciates your service and compassionate thinking, Neena," Hasani started, his tone a little venomous to show just how angry he was with her, "If you ever walk in front of a blade like that again, I will have you whipped. There is no reason to put your own life in danger when you could have just walked around the training ring," Hasani scolded her, almost savagely. The leier had to breathe out a few more times to come the tension in his shoulders and comb the anger from his gaze and his words. "The tribe values you, and your blood is something no one, especially young budding warriors, wants on their hands," Hasani's tone took on a softer sound as he reasoned with her.
"Now, set the skins there and wait here. I'll have a task for you once the boys are done," he said it loud enough so that everyone around him would hear and know that she was off limits for what tasks needed done. Ask the other slaves, this girl was his for the moment. He still thought about cuffing her about the back of the head to get his point across about putting her in danger, but his order for her to stay was his silent invitation to make it up to him.
Neena was entirely unaware of the issues she was raising in the minds of those around her. Of the visions and illusions that they were constructing of her death by inexperienced blade thrower. She was more focused on the idea of skipping towards the Leier with a joyful step and an eager bounce that would land her directly before him with the water skins open and offered his way. Apparently, however, such a gesture was lost upon him - or at least swamped by other worries or concerns.
When the man held out a hand, Neena noticed the face of his trainer with a spark of serious amusement - the man looked so gruffly angry he might explode or start seeping steam from his ears. It was hardly less than comical.
Only, for some reason, it didn't seem so funny when it was Hasani who looked just as lethal with rage.
Whilst there were man a woman - and person - Neena suspected who might bawl at the first sign of such angry conflict, regardless of whether said conflict was fuelled by their personal concern for them or otherwise, the slave that stood before such anger this time reacted with little more than the widening of her eyes.
Neena stood and she watched and she listened. When Hasani thanked her for her compassion, she smiled a little - the normal beam restrained by the tone of his voice that clearly indicated another boot was to be dropped in a moment - and then she parted her lips in order to talk back. Her counter arguments, however, were overridden by the Leier's determined speech and her explanations and justifications lost to momentary stammering.
When he accused her of being unsafe, Neena managed - "But I-" and when he stated that she could have just gone around, she tried to argue that that would have taken longer but only succeeded in voicing - "Yes, but-". When he said that the tribe valued her, Neena felt a hot flush upon her cheeks, shocked by the fact that she was blushing of all things. A handsome man said she was valued and now she was blushing? What in the Gods' and ancients' name was going on with her these days? This particular comment, she didn't have time to issue a stammer upon because Hasani continued, insisting that she stand to one side and wait for him to finish his duties so that she could be given an appropriate task that he had in mind.
Not sure she trusted this statement at all and wondering if he was just trying to keep her out of trouble with a false promise of future commitments, Neena blew out her cheeks in an expression of begrudging resentment and moved to the spot he had indicated with a pointed finger. Rather than stand there, she dumped the water skins at her feet and immediately crumpled to the floor in an elegant move that had her standing one second and then sitting cross legged upon the sands the next. She leant back with her palms on the ground and her torso strong and long, looking for all the world at ease, despite the recent chastising by the Leier of the tribe. She was even bold enough to stick out a tongue at the trainer whom Hasani had shushed.
Unable to go anywhere else or seek entertainment elsewhere - by order of the Leier no less - Neena turned her gaze upon the trainees and began to make sounds, tuts, or huffs or outright laughs when the boys missed their targets because they were making simple errors - momentary actions like dropping the balancing arm too soon or (bizarre as it was) - throwing too hard. Her comments were low and could be heard by only those closest to her but she wasn't shy at showing her opinion in the way her breathing and noises seeped before her chest and between her lips.
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Neena was entirely unaware of the issues she was raising in the minds of those around her. Of the visions and illusions that they were constructing of her death by inexperienced blade thrower. She was more focused on the idea of skipping towards the Leier with a joyful step and an eager bounce that would land her directly before him with the water skins open and offered his way. Apparently, however, such a gesture was lost upon him - or at least swamped by other worries or concerns.
When the man held out a hand, Neena noticed the face of his trainer with a spark of serious amusement - the man looked so gruffly angry he might explode or start seeping steam from his ears. It was hardly less than comical.
Only, for some reason, it didn't seem so funny when it was Hasani who looked just as lethal with rage.
Whilst there were man a woman - and person - Neena suspected who might bawl at the first sign of such angry conflict, regardless of whether said conflict was fuelled by their personal concern for them or otherwise, the slave that stood before such anger this time reacted with little more than the widening of her eyes.
Neena stood and she watched and she listened. When Hasani thanked her for her compassion, she smiled a little - the normal beam restrained by the tone of his voice that clearly indicated another boot was to be dropped in a moment - and then she parted her lips in order to talk back. Her counter arguments, however, were overridden by the Leier's determined speech and her explanations and justifications lost to momentary stammering.
When he accused her of being unsafe, Neena managed - "But I-" and when he stated that she could have just gone around, she tried to argue that that would have taken longer but only succeeded in voicing - "Yes, but-". When he said that the tribe valued her, Neena felt a hot flush upon her cheeks, shocked by the fact that she was blushing of all things. A handsome man said she was valued and now she was blushing? What in the Gods' and ancients' name was going on with her these days? This particular comment, she didn't have time to issue a stammer upon because Hasani continued, insisting that she stand to one side and wait for him to finish his duties so that she could be given an appropriate task that he had in mind.
Not sure she trusted this statement at all and wondering if he was just trying to keep her out of trouble with a false promise of future commitments, Neena blew out her cheeks in an expression of begrudging resentment and moved to the spot he had indicated with a pointed finger. Rather than stand there, she dumped the water skins at her feet and immediately crumpled to the floor in an elegant move that had her standing one second and then sitting cross legged upon the sands the next. She leant back with her palms on the ground and her torso strong and long, looking for all the world at ease, despite the recent chastising by the Leier of the tribe. She was even bold enough to stick out a tongue at the trainer whom Hasani had shushed.
Unable to go anywhere else or seek entertainment elsewhere - by order of the Leier no less - Neena turned her gaze upon the trainees and began to make sounds, tuts, or huffs or outright laughs when the boys missed their targets because they were making simple errors - momentary actions like dropping the balancing arm too soon or (bizarre as it was) - throwing too hard. Her comments were low and could be heard by only those closest to her but she wasn't shy at showing her opinion in the way her breathing and noises seeped before her chest and between her lips.
Neena was entirely unaware of the issues she was raising in the minds of those around her. Of the visions and illusions that they were constructing of her death by inexperienced blade thrower. She was more focused on the idea of skipping towards the Leier with a joyful step and an eager bounce that would land her directly before him with the water skins open and offered his way. Apparently, however, such a gesture was lost upon him - or at least swamped by other worries or concerns.
When the man held out a hand, Neena noticed the face of his trainer with a spark of serious amusement - the man looked so gruffly angry he might explode or start seeping steam from his ears. It was hardly less than comical.
Only, for some reason, it didn't seem so funny when it was Hasani who looked just as lethal with rage.
Whilst there were man a woman - and person - Neena suspected who might bawl at the first sign of such angry conflict, regardless of whether said conflict was fuelled by their personal concern for them or otherwise, the slave that stood before such anger this time reacted with little more than the widening of her eyes.
Neena stood and she watched and she listened. When Hasani thanked her for her compassion, she smiled a little - the normal beam restrained by the tone of his voice that clearly indicated another boot was to be dropped in a moment - and then she parted her lips in order to talk back. Her counter arguments, however, were overridden by the Leier's determined speech and her explanations and justifications lost to momentary stammering.
When he accused her of being unsafe, Neena managed - "But I-" and when he stated that she could have just gone around, she tried to argue that that would have taken longer but only succeeded in voicing - "Yes, but-". When he said that the tribe valued her, Neena felt a hot flush upon her cheeks, shocked by the fact that she was blushing of all things. A handsome man said she was valued and now she was blushing? What in the Gods' and ancients' name was going on with her these days? This particular comment, she didn't have time to issue a stammer upon because Hasani continued, insisting that she stand to one side and wait for him to finish his duties so that she could be given an appropriate task that he had in mind.
Not sure she trusted this statement at all and wondering if he was just trying to keep her out of trouble with a false promise of future commitments, Neena blew out her cheeks in an expression of begrudging resentment and moved to the spot he had indicated with a pointed finger. Rather than stand there, she dumped the water skins at her feet and immediately crumpled to the floor in an elegant move that had her standing one second and then sitting cross legged upon the sands the next. She leant back with her palms on the ground and her torso strong and long, looking for all the world at ease, despite the recent chastising by the Leier of the tribe. She was even bold enough to stick out a tongue at the trainer whom Hasani had shushed.
Unable to go anywhere else or seek entertainment elsewhere - by order of the Leier no less - Neena turned her gaze upon the trainees and began to make sounds, tuts, or huffs or outright laughs when the boys missed their targets because they were making simple errors - momentary actions like dropping the balancing arm too soon or (bizarre as it was) - throwing too hard. Her comments were low and could be heard by only those closest to her but she wasn't shy at showing her opinion in the way her breathing and noises seeped before her chest and between her lips.
Hasani was not keen on listening to her argue with him, nor to even let her argue with him at all. The leier just wanted the slave girl to sit down and be quiet for just a few minutes. He was still so unyieldingly angry that he was not going to give her any rope with which to hang him with. Nor would he allow her to throw words back at him when he was not keen on hearing nearly anything that she had to say at the moment. The man needed to focus on the task at hand, and that meant not focusing on what Neena was and was not doing, so long as she remained in his side vision, unmoving as he had instructed her.
The punishment for not doing as he had already told her would be harsh and he wasn't entirely okay with being so mean to someone he had just stated that he valued. Because he did. Neena was a machine. Whatever task was given to her, she did. She was good with children. She was respected by the women and the people of the tribe. Hasani would show mercy so long as she listened to the words that came out of his mouth and did not think herself entitled to more. At least not at this moment.
With his dark eyes on the training warriors, thick arms crossed against his chest, and a stern look on his features, the leier couldn't help but feel let down by many of the young warriors. Maybe Neena's stunt had freaked them out. Maybe their hands were unsteady because they were afraid of striking someone they did not mean to. Slave or not, Neena was a member of the tribe. The only things she lacked were her true freedom and the giving of the tribes name unto her. Many of these young warriors had been scared into failing.
And Neena seemed to notice that the boys were failing because with each click of her tongue or sound that came from her mouth, Hasani noticed one boy after another failing in their exercise. For some reason, that calmed Hasani a little. Neena seemed to know about throwing knives and if she were so keen on the subject as she seemed to be now, she much not have meant any harm or danger toward herself by walking in front of the young men. She must have known that she would be safe, if only because she had more skill than them. That set Hasani's mind reeling further with curiosity, though he said nothing, determined to keep his anger for just the slightest moment more.
Jabari, on the other hand, was not so good at holding his temper. Each time Neena opened her mouth, he seemed to grow more and more angry, his gaze irritated as it landed on her time and time again. Many of the boys seemed to notice, eventually pausing to set their gazes on the warrior trainer. Hasani did too, when the mere presence of Jabari's frustration was too great to ignore. Jabari glared at Neena's back.
"If you're so intent on making comments, slave girl, how about you show the boys how they're supposed to throw a knife. You seem to have an opinion, so prove yourself or go eat camel dung," the warrior snarled at her.
Hasani tensed a little, his own glare hardening at Jabari, though he did not argue, simply giving Neena a very slow nod of his head. Permission to move from her spot and either prove Jabari to be an idiot, or to show herself as entirely inexperienced of the topic she was inclined to comment on, however quietly. All of the boys in the training ring started to back away, and many of the spectators around the circle started to whisper to one another, trying to make sense of the situation and what had set Jabari off.
Surely it wasn't Neena?
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Hasani was not keen on listening to her argue with him, nor to even let her argue with him at all. The leier just wanted the slave girl to sit down and be quiet for just a few minutes. He was still so unyieldingly angry that he was not going to give her any rope with which to hang him with. Nor would he allow her to throw words back at him when he was not keen on hearing nearly anything that she had to say at the moment. The man needed to focus on the task at hand, and that meant not focusing on what Neena was and was not doing, so long as she remained in his side vision, unmoving as he had instructed her.
The punishment for not doing as he had already told her would be harsh and he wasn't entirely okay with being so mean to someone he had just stated that he valued. Because he did. Neena was a machine. Whatever task was given to her, she did. She was good with children. She was respected by the women and the people of the tribe. Hasani would show mercy so long as she listened to the words that came out of his mouth and did not think herself entitled to more. At least not at this moment.
With his dark eyes on the training warriors, thick arms crossed against his chest, and a stern look on his features, the leier couldn't help but feel let down by many of the young warriors. Maybe Neena's stunt had freaked them out. Maybe their hands were unsteady because they were afraid of striking someone they did not mean to. Slave or not, Neena was a member of the tribe. The only things she lacked were her true freedom and the giving of the tribes name unto her. Many of these young warriors had been scared into failing.
And Neena seemed to notice that the boys were failing because with each click of her tongue or sound that came from her mouth, Hasani noticed one boy after another failing in their exercise. For some reason, that calmed Hasani a little. Neena seemed to know about throwing knives and if she were so keen on the subject as she seemed to be now, she much not have meant any harm or danger toward herself by walking in front of the young men. She must have known that she would be safe, if only because she had more skill than them. That set Hasani's mind reeling further with curiosity, though he said nothing, determined to keep his anger for just the slightest moment more.
Jabari, on the other hand, was not so good at holding his temper. Each time Neena opened her mouth, he seemed to grow more and more angry, his gaze irritated as it landed on her time and time again. Many of the boys seemed to notice, eventually pausing to set their gazes on the warrior trainer. Hasani did too, when the mere presence of Jabari's frustration was too great to ignore. Jabari glared at Neena's back.
"If you're so intent on making comments, slave girl, how about you show the boys how they're supposed to throw a knife. You seem to have an opinion, so prove yourself or go eat camel dung," the warrior snarled at her.
Hasani tensed a little, his own glare hardening at Jabari, though he did not argue, simply giving Neena a very slow nod of his head. Permission to move from her spot and either prove Jabari to be an idiot, or to show herself as entirely inexperienced of the topic she was inclined to comment on, however quietly. All of the boys in the training ring started to back away, and many of the spectators around the circle started to whisper to one another, trying to make sense of the situation and what had set Jabari off.
Surely it wasn't Neena?
Hasani was not keen on listening to her argue with him, nor to even let her argue with him at all. The leier just wanted the slave girl to sit down and be quiet for just a few minutes. He was still so unyieldingly angry that he was not going to give her any rope with which to hang him with. Nor would he allow her to throw words back at him when he was not keen on hearing nearly anything that she had to say at the moment. The man needed to focus on the task at hand, and that meant not focusing on what Neena was and was not doing, so long as she remained in his side vision, unmoving as he had instructed her.
The punishment for not doing as he had already told her would be harsh and he wasn't entirely okay with being so mean to someone he had just stated that he valued. Because he did. Neena was a machine. Whatever task was given to her, she did. She was good with children. She was respected by the women and the people of the tribe. Hasani would show mercy so long as she listened to the words that came out of his mouth and did not think herself entitled to more. At least not at this moment.
With his dark eyes on the training warriors, thick arms crossed against his chest, and a stern look on his features, the leier couldn't help but feel let down by many of the young warriors. Maybe Neena's stunt had freaked them out. Maybe their hands were unsteady because they were afraid of striking someone they did not mean to. Slave or not, Neena was a member of the tribe. The only things she lacked were her true freedom and the giving of the tribes name unto her. Many of these young warriors had been scared into failing.
And Neena seemed to notice that the boys were failing because with each click of her tongue or sound that came from her mouth, Hasani noticed one boy after another failing in their exercise. For some reason, that calmed Hasani a little. Neena seemed to know about throwing knives and if she were so keen on the subject as she seemed to be now, she much not have meant any harm or danger toward herself by walking in front of the young men. She must have known that she would be safe, if only because she had more skill than them. That set Hasani's mind reeling further with curiosity, though he said nothing, determined to keep his anger for just the slightest moment more.
Jabari, on the other hand, was not so good at holding his temper. Each time Neena opened her mouth, he seemed to grow more and more angry, his gaze irritated as it landed on her time and time again. Many of the boys seemed to notice, eventually pausing to set their gazes on the warrior trainer. Hasani did too, when the mere presence of Jabari's frustration was too great to ignore. Jabari glared at Neena's back.
"If you're so intent on making comments, slave girl, how about you show the boys how they're supposed to throw a knife. You seem to have an opinion, so prove yourself or go eat camel dung," the warrior snarled at her.
Hasani tensed a little, his own glare hardening at Jabari, though he did not argue, simply giving Neena a very slow nod of his head. Permission to move from her spot and either prove Jabari to be an idiot, or to show herself as entirely inexperienced of the topic she was inclined to comment on, however quietly. All of the boys in the training ring started to back away, and many of the spectators around the circle started to whisper to one another, trying to make sense of the situation and what had set Jabari off.
Surely it wasn't Neena?
Neena hadn't meant to insult anyone. Whilst she had been ordered to stay out of the way and not say anything directly to the Meier or cause distraction - instructions that she had felt herself to be following - she hadn't been specifically told to remain in all ways and manners silent. As such, Neena behaved as she normally would do, around the restrictions that she had been given and was respecting.
And how Neena normally behaved was in freedom. A woman who believed in liberty and a boundary less existence, Neena took this seriously in all ways of her life. Not only had she not lived in the same place for long, nor committed to a home, she had also never turned herself specifically loyal to one individual or group of people. She made friends easily enough and held true to those friendships but she never let them define her or restrict the plans she held for her own life. Thus mentality boiled all the way down to her basic and minute behaviour. Such as speaking, tutting or making remarks of nothing but sound as she watched and reacted to the knife throwing training session.
Her mentality of life and the way that she lived her own was so defiant in Neena's subconscious - so buried I within the foundations of her self of self - that she didn't even notice how it was affecting her, what she was doing and how it might affect others. In fact, the first she thought of such a thing was when the big ol' warrior trainer who had seemed all annoyed moved over, snagged a handful of her little, colourful tunic and shoved her up and to her feet.
Her voice leaving her in a yelp of surprise, Neena's arms pinwheeled for a moment and she half lost one of her thong sandals in a rut of desert sand. Hopping for a moment in order to return it to her foot, Neena wiggled her toes back into place upon the strip of leather and looked to Hasani, uncertain whether she was to obey the order given to her.
When a nod was her only answer, Neena's palms turned outward and lifted a little, followed by her shoulders coming up in a nonchalant shrug of acceptance. As a slave, it wasn't as if Neena had control over what she would do with her day. So what did it matter if she spent the afternoon throwing knives about? She had done it before, for days at a time, entertaining on street corners for the sake of a little coin thrown her way. Knives were easy. And she had learnt how to handle then for at least half her life.
Turning to the fighters who had been practicing, yet now stood with an uncertain hesitation, waiting for the conclusion over Neena's ordered interruption to their session, Neena was quick to open her hands and accept four or five blades from the closest few boys. Or young men as they were now turning into, not much younger than herself.
Taking each by the hilts of wrapped leather and hair, Neena transferred all bar one into one hand and tested the weight of the remainder in her left. She threw it a little, the flick of her wrist sending it spinning one tumble before landing in her palm once more. She smiled as she noted that they were hardly any different from the little blades she had been using before her possessions had been taken by the Somalu.
Bracing her feet and evening out the knives between her hands, Neena then set to a quick flick of the wrist and, in just a moment, was juggling the weapons up and down. Each turn and fall of the knives brought the hilts down to meet her hands, her well-practiced talent ensuring that she never once chopped her own fingers off. She didn't attempt the additional stunts that she would normally perform - twists and turns beneath the knives, catching one with her foot etc. For normally she performed on a solid street. Now, she stood over sand - a simple trip and it was goodbye toes.
Plus, showing off wasn't what she had been told to do, and Neena only performed her little trick in order to watch Jabari's face still further as it turned thunderous.
Spinning the knives in a high juggling act, Neena offered her talents for a minute or so before changing the flow of her arm. As each blade came back into hand, instead of throwing it back into the air, she launched it towards the nearest target. One after another the weapons flew, hitting the intended, fake victim all within an inch of its centre.
Then, as all five blades were loosed and buried in their target, Neena turned to the little crowd watching the practice and offered a comedic and melodramatic bow in completion of her efforts.
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Neena hadn't meant to insult anyone. Whilst she had been ordered to stay out of the way and not say anything directly to the Meier or cause distraction - instructions that she had felt herself to be following - she hadn't been specifically told to remain in all ways and manners silent. As such, Neena behaved as she normally would do, around the restrictions that she had been given and was respecting.
And how Neena normally behaved was in freedom. A woman who believed in liberty and a boundary less existence, Neena took this seriously in all ways of her life. Not only had she not lived in the same place for long, nor committed to a home, she had also never turned herself specifically loyal to one individual or group of people. She made friends easily enough and held true to those friendships but she never let them define her or restrict the plans she held for her own life. Thus mentality boiled all the way down to her basic and minute behaviour. Such as speaking, tutting or making remarks of nothing but sound as she watched and reacted to the knife throwing training session.
Her mentality of life and the way that she lived her own was so defiant in Neena's subconscious - so buried I within the foundations of her self of self - that she didn't even notice how it was affecting her, what she was doing and how it might affect others. In fact, the first she thought of such a thing was when the big ol' warrior trainer who had seemed all annoyed moved over, snagged a handful of her little, colourful tunic and shoved her up and to her feet.
Her voice leaving her in a yelp of surprise, Neena's arms pinwheeled for a moment and she half lost one of her thong sandals in a rut of desert sand. Hopping for a moment in order to return it to her foot, Neena wiggled her toes back into place upon the strip of leather and looked to Hasani, uncertain whether she was to obey the order given to her.
When a nod was her only answer, Neena's palms turned outward and lifted a little, followed by her shoulders coming up in a nonchalant shrug of acceptance. As a slave, it wasn't as if Neena had control over what she would do with her day. So what did it matter if she spent the afternoon throwing knives about? She had done it before, for days at a time, entertaining on street corners for the sake of a little coin thrown her way. Knives were easy. And she had learnt how to handle then for at least half her life.
Turning to the fighters who had been practicing, yet now stood with an uncertain hesitation, waiting for the conclusion over Neena's ordered interruption to their session, Neena was quick to open her hands and accept four or five blades from the closest few boys. Or young men as they were now turning into, not much younger than herself.
Taking each by the hilts of wrapped leather and hair, Neena transferred all bar one into one hand and tested the weight of the remainder in her left. She threw it a little, the flick of her wrist sending it spinning one tumble before landing in her palm once more. She smiled as she noted that they were hardly any different from the little blades she had been using before her possessions had been taken by the Somalu.
Bracing her feet and evening out the knives between her hands, Neena then set to a quick flick of the wrist and, in just a moment, was juggling the weapons up and down. Each turn and fall of the knives brought the hilts down to meet her hands, her well-practiced talent ensuring that she never once chopped her own fingers off. She didn't attempt the additional stunts that she would normally perform - twists and turns beneath the knives, catching one with her foot etc. For normally she performed on a solid street. Now, she stood over sand - a simple trip and it was goodbye toes.
Plus, showing off wasn't what she had been told to do, and Neena only performed her little trick in order to watch Jabari's face still further as it turned thunderous.
Spinning the knives in a high juggling act, Neena offered her talents for a minute or so before changing the flow of her arm. As each blade came back into hand, instead of throwing it back into the air, she launched it towards the nearest target. One after another the weapons flew, hitting the intended, fake victim all within an inch of its centre.
Then, as all five blades were loosed and buried in their target, Neena turned to the little crowd watching the practice and offered a comedic and melodramatic bow in completion of her efforts.
Neena hadn't meant to insult anyone. Whilst she had been ordered to stay out of the way and not say anything directly to the Meier or cause distraction - instructions that she had felt herself to be following - she hadn't been specifically told to remain in all ways and manners silent. As such, Neena behaved as she normally would do, around the restrictions that she had been given and was respecting.
And how Neena normally behaved was in freedom. A woman who believed in liberty and a boundary less existence, Neena took this seriously in all ways of her life. Not only had she not lived in the same place for long, nor committed to a home, she had also never turned herself specifically loyal to one individual or group of people. She made friends easily enough and held true to those friendships but she never let them define her or restrict the plans she held for her own life. Thus mentality boiled all the way down to her basic and minute behaviour. Such as speaking, tutting or making remarks of nothing but sound as she watched and reacted to the knife throwing training session.
Her mentality of life and the way that she lived her own was so defiant in Neena's subconscious - so buried I within the foundations of her self of self - that she didn't even notice how it was affecting her, what she was doing and how it might affect others. In fact, the first she thought of such a thing was when the big ol' warrior trainer who had seemed all annoyed moved over, snagged a handful of her little, colourful tunic and shoved her up and to her feet.
Her voice leaving her in a yelp of surprise, Neena's arms pinwheeled for a moment and she half lost one of her thong sandals in a rut of desert sand. Hopping for a moment in order to return it to her foot, Neena wiggled her toes back into place upon the strip of leather and looked to Hasani, uncertain whether she was to obey the order given to her.
When a nod was her only answer, Neena's palms turned outward and lifted a little, followed by her shoulders coming up in a nonchalant shrug of acceptance. As a slave, it wasn't as if Neena had control over what she would do with her day. So what did it matter if she spent the afternoon throwing knives about? She had done it before, for days at a time, entertaining on street corners for the sake of a little coin thrown her way. Knives were easy. And she had learnt how to handle then for at least half her life.
Turning to the fighters who had been practicing, yet now stood with an uncertain hesitation, waiting for the conclusion over Neena's ordered interruption to their session, Neena was quick to open her hands and accept four or five blades from the closest few boys. Or young men as they were now turning into, not much younger than herself.
Taking each by the hilts of wrapped leather and hair, Neena transferred all bar one into one hand and tested the weight of the remainder in her left. She threw it a little, the flick of her wrist sending it spinning one tumble before landing in her palm once more. She smiled as she noted that they were hardly any different from the little blades she had been using before her possessions had been taken by the Somalu.
Bracing her feet and evening out the knives between her hands, Neena then set to a quick flick of the wrist and, in just a moment, was juggling the weapons up and down. Each turn and fall of the knives brought the hilts down to meet her hands, her well-practiced talent ensuring that she never once chopped her own fingers off. She didn't attempt the additional stunts that she would normally perform - twists and turns beneath the knives, catching one with her foot etc. For normally she performed on a solid street. Now, she stood over sand - a simple trip and it was goodbye toes.
Plus, showing off wasn't what she had been told to do, and Neena only performed her little trick in order to watch Jabari's face still further as it turned thunderous.
Spinning the knives in a high juggling act, Neena offered her talents for a minute or so before changing the flow of her arm. As each blade came back into hand, instead of throwing it back into the air, she launched it towards the nearest target. One after another the weapons flew, hitting the intended, fake victim all within an inch of its centre.
Then, as all five blades were loosed and buried in their target, Neena turned to the little crowd watching the practice and offered a comedic and melodramatic bow in completion of her efforts.
In any other situation, Hasani likely would have stayed angry at the slave girl. But, to be honest, it was hard to do that when she was a young woman who approached her life with a freedom that few others had. They were all free people, the Bedoans, but there was still a sense of stationary lifestyle that they would never break from. They moved about, but they never truly left their desert home behind. Neena, on the other hand, had been everywhere and then some. If anyone was more worldly than her, it would be a shock to many of the tribe members.
They had all come to like her stories and the way she spoke. Her tendencies were obviously dangerous and somewhat annoying, but who could truly fault her? She had been raised differently. She had lived entirely differently from the rest of them. To judge her would be unfair, and Hasani knew that. That didn't, however, excuse her dangerous behavior or his anger toward her for being so utterly careless with her own neck.
Why he was so frustrated by the stunt she had pulled, he really didn't understand, but he wasn't in a position to question anything that was going through his mind. Jabari had issued a challenge, and Hasani was going to allow it. Whether it would teach Neena a sense of reservation or only continue to entice further rebellion, he didn't know. But Hasani was going to allow her to see this through.
What he and the other tribe members witnessed, however, was pure humor and hilarity. It was Jabari and the rest of the Zaire tribe that had learned a lesson at this moment. Neena, the slave girl that most people took a complete liking to, knew how to use blades. She knew how to use blades better than even the best trained of the young warriors before her, and maybe even some of their best-experienced warriors. The leier could not keep his jaw from dropping slightly in pure awe and surprise as Neena loosed all five blades, perfectly, into the targets ahead of her.
The group fell into complete silence and Hasani let his gaze trail across the stunned expressions of each and every gathered member of the tribe.
It was Hasani who laughed first. It came out as a bark at first, and then a full laugh, his shoulders and gargantuan frame shaking under the force of his own laughter. Slowly, the spectators also started to laugh, not because what Neena had done had been hilarious, but because Neena had put the angry warriors, Jabari, in his place with just a few delicate, practiced flicks of her wrist.
Jabari was the only one who did not laugh, looking more and more irritated by the second at the skill of the slave girl and how she had bested some of the young warriors. The boys themselves did not seem bothered, many of them watching with wide eyes, awed and surprised just as their leier and everyone else. A few of them whooped and waved their hands, scrambling for a few more blades so that they could watch Neena do it again.
One of them even tried to shove another knife into her hand, chattering quickly about wanting to see the way that she moved her wrist.
Hasani cleared his throat as his own laughter died and he let his gaze slide toward Jabari. "I think her punishment, and yours, should be that the two of you work together on training the young warriors," he said confidently, "A woman's touch might prove useful in this... delicate matter," the leier declared, making only a single nod of his head. "Sometimes it is not couth to question the skill of someone you are not so familiar with," Hasani heeded, "This lesson should save you, Jabari, and the rest of us more embarrassment later."
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In any other situation, Hasani likely would have stayed angry at the slave girl. But, to be honest, it was hard to do that when she was a young woman who approached her life with a freedom that few others had. They were all free people, the Bedoans, but there was still a sense of stationary lifestyle that they would never break from. They moved about, but they never truly left their desert home behind. Neena, on the other hand, had been everywhere and then some. If anyone was more worldly than her, it would be a shock to many of the tribe members.
They had all come to like her stories and the way she spoke. Her tendencies were obviously dangerous and somewhat annoying, but who could truly fault her? She had been raised differently. She had lived entirely differently from the rest of them. To judge her would be unfair, and Hasani knew that. That didn't, however, excuse her dangerous behavior or his anger toward her for being so utterly careless with her own neck.
Why he was so frustrated by the stunt she had pulled, he really didn't understand, but he wasn't in a position to question anything that was going through his mind. Jabari had issued a challenge, and Hasani was going to allow it. Whether it would teach Neena a sense of reservation or only continue to entice further rebellion, he didn't know. But Hasani was going to allow her to see this through.
What he and the other tribe members witnessed, however, was pure humor and hilarity. It was Jabari and the rest of the Zaire tribe that had learned a lesson at this moment. Neena, the slave girl that most people took a complete liking to, knew how to use blades. She knew how to use blades better than even the best trained of the young warriors before her, and maybe even some of their best-experienced warriors. The leier could not keep his jaw from dropping slightly in pure awe and surprise as Neena loosed all five blades, perfectly, into the targets ahead of her.
The group fell into complete silence and Hasani let his gaze trail across the stunned expressions of each and every gathered member of the tribe.
It was Hasani who laughed first. It came out as a bark at first, and then a full laugh, his shoulders and gargantuan frame shaking under the force of his own laughter. Slowly, the spectators also started to laugh, not because what Neena had done had been hilarious, but because Neena had put the angry warriors, Jabari, in his place with just a few delicate, practiced flicks of her wrist.
Jabari was the only one who did not laugh, looking more and more irritated by the second at the skill of the slave girl and how she had bested some of the young warriors. The boys themselves did not seem bothered, many of them watching with wide eyes, awed and surprised just as their leier and everyone else. A few of them whooped and waved their hands, scrambling for a few more blades so that they could watch Neena do it again.
One of them even tried to shove another knife into her hand, chattering quickly about wanting to see the way that she moved her wrist.
Hasani cleared his throat as his own laughter died and he let his gaze slide toward Jabari. "I think her punishment, and yours, should be that the two of you work together on training the young warriors," he said confidently, "A woman's touch might prove useful in this... delicate matter," the leier declared, making only a single nod of his head. "Sometimes it is not couth to question the skill of someone you are not so familiar with," Hasani heeded, "This lesson should save you, Jabari, and the rest of us more embarrassment later."
In any other situation, Hasani likely would have stayed angry at the slave girl. But, to be honest, it was hard to do that when she was a young woman who approached her life with a freedom that few others had. They were all free people, the Bedoans, but there was still a sense of stationary lifestyle that they would never break from. They moved about, but they never truly left their desert home behind. Neena, on the other hand, had been everywhere and then some. If anyone was more worldly than her, it would be a shock to many of the tribe members.
They had all come to like her stories and the way she spoke. Her tendencies were obviously dangerous and somewhat annoying, but who could truly fault her? She had been raised differently. She had lived entirely differently from the rest of them. To judge her would be unfair, and Hasani knew that. That didn't, however, excuse her dangerous behavior or his anger toward her for being so utterly careless with her own neck.
Why he was so frustrated by the stunt she had pulled, he really didn't understand, but he wasn't in a position to question anything that was going through his mind. Jabari had issued a challenge, and Hasani was going to allow it. Whether it would teach Neena a sense of reservation or only continue to entice further rebellion, he didn't know. But Hasani was going to allow her to see this through.
What he and the other tribe members witnessed, however, was pure humor and hilarity. It was Jabari and the rest of the Zaire tribe that had learned a lesson at this moment. Neena, the slave girl that most people took a complete liking to, knew how to use blades. She knew how to use blades better than even the best trained of the young warriors before her, and maybe even some of their best-experienced warriors. The leier could not keep his jaw from dropping slightly in pure awe and surprise as Neena loosed all five blades, perfectly, into the targets ahead of her.
The group fell into complete silence and Hasani let his gaze trail across the stunned expressions of each and every gathered member of the tribe.
It was Hasani who laughed first. It came out as a bark at first, and then a full laugh, his shoulders and gargantuan frame shaking under the force of his own laughter. Slowly, the spectators also started to laugh, not because what Neena had done had been hilarious, but because Neena had put the angry warriors, Jabari, in his place with just a few delicate, practiced flicks of her wrist.
Jabari was the only one who did not laugh, looking more and more irritated by the second at the skill of the slave girl and how she had bested some of the young warriors. The boys themselves did not seem bothered, many of them watching with wide eyes, awed and surprised just as their leier and everyone else. A few of them whooped and waved their hands, scrambling for a few more blades so that they could watch Neena do it again.
One of them even tried to shove another knife into her hand, chattering quickly about wanting to see the way that she moved her wrist.
Hasani cleared his throat as his own laughter died and he let his gaze slide toward Jabari. "I think her punishment, and yours, should be that the two of you work together on training the young warriors," he said confidently, "A woman's touch might prove useful in this... delicate matter," the leier declared, making only a single nod of his head. "Sometimes it is not couth to question the skill of someone you are not so familiar with," Hasani heeded, "This lesson should save you, Jabari, and the rest of us more embarrassment later."
Neena loved to have a little fun. It was no secret to her that life was just genuinely a nicer thing to experience and live within if you sought the positives and the chances for hilarity where you could. As her life had taken her from one poor situation to a challenging one, back and forth between slavery and into periods of time where she was every epitome of the word ‘alone’, Neena had learnt a single and important lesson that would shape her world view from that point onwards.
Your mood and your life, was a choice.
Yes, the world could throw hard times upon you, yes, the circumstances that surrounded your practical world could change and sadden you. But whilst your impulsive and instinctive feelings were hard to negate, how you then reacted to them was entirely within your remit of choice. Did you continue to be sad, continue to be angry? Or did you let the matter go, shake off the disappointment and deliberately turn your thoughts to happier times?
Neena could have continued to hold a grudge against Hasani for yelling or Jabari for doubting. Instead, however, she chose only to indicate how wrong they had been (particularly the latter) in a manner that was humorous, encouraging and (she hoped) not as insulting as a violent outburst or defensive argument. What good would that do her? What help would it offer? How would being mad and upsetting others improve her life?
In short, it wouldn’t. And Neena had long ago learnt that such nonsense was the stuff of children. Whilst she didn’t exactly consider herself to be some enlightened example of maturity, she knew enough that this was the mentality with which she wished to live her life. With happiness over hurt.
So, when her handling of the situation left the cluster of tribesmen around her quiet and surprised, she waited to see if such a choice had been the wisest, her eyes scanning the crowd subtly from her peripheral vision in the hopes that something would break the tension.
What shattered it, in the very best way as far as Neena was concerned, was a guffaw of laughter that came from the Leier. Her head swinging around to see if such a thing was truly possible, Neena’s soft smile of showmanship spread into her most natural and shining beam at the laugh that issued from Hasani.
Realising in that moment that she had yet to have a true conversation with the man and not the leader, Neena witnessed his open joy as one might the sunshine after being kept underground for months. It was sharp to look at and bizarre in its foreignness, but no less warming for it.
So there was a man and a soul in there somewhere.
Her smile twisting into a thoughtful smirk, Neena’s mind was already making promises and challenges to herself that she would do what she could to drag more of the same from the man. Even if it meant him looking just a little ridiculous with so large shoulders shaking with such mirth. From a towering warrior to a pussycat in a second flat, she thought.
When young warriors and men collected around her, daggers being waved towards her in a manner that was only slightly alarming for the safety of her nose and hilts being pushed into her palms, Neena smiled, nodded and made all the impressions and none of the promises to help the fighters improve their skills. For she had no idea that Hasani was merrily promising her skills to doing exactly that. The noise of awed comments and questions drowned out anything that Hasani had to say, whilst also hiding him entirely from her view. A short woman at the best of times, amongst the warriors of the Zaire – chosen and honed for their size and strength – Neena felt a tad claustrophobic, as she was forced to cower within a large pack of excited and nubile warriors.
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Neena loved to have a little fun. It was no secret to her that life was just genuinely a nicer thing to experience and live within if you sought the positives and the chances for hilarity where you could. As her life had taken her from one poor situation to a challenging one, back and forth between slavery and into periods of time where she was every epitome of the word ‘alone’, Neena had learnt a single and important lesson that would shape her world view from that point onwards.
Your mood and your life, was a choice.
Yes, the world could throw hard times upon you, yes, the circumstances that surrounded your practical world could change and sadden you. But whilst your impulsive and instinctive feelings were hard to negate, how you then reacted to them was entirely within your remit of choice. Did you continue to be sad, continue to be angry? Or did you let the matter go, shake off the disappointment and deliberately turn your thoughts to happier times?
Neena could have continued to hold a grudge against Hasani for yelling or Jabari for doubting. Instead, however, she chose only to indicate how wrong they had been (particularly the latter) in a manner that was humorous, encouraging and (she hoped) not as insulting as a violent outburst or defensive argument. What good would that do her? What help would it offer? How would being mad and upsetting others improve her life?
In short, it wouldn’t. And Neena had long ago learnt that such nonsense was the stuff of children. Whilst she didn’t exactly consider herself to be some enlightened example of maturity, she knew enough that this was the mentality with which she wished to live her life. With happiness over hurt.
So, when her handling of the situation left the cluster of tribesmen around her quiet and surprised, she waited to see if such a choice had been the wisest, her eyes scanning the crowd subtly from her peripheral vision in the hopes that something would break the tension.
What shattered it, in the very best way as far as Neena was concerned, was a guffaw of laughter that came from the Leier. Her head swinging around to see if such a thing was truly possible, Neena’s soft smile of showmanship spread into her most natural and shining beam at the laugh that issued from Hasani.
Realising in that moment that she had yet to have a true conversation with the man and not the leader, Neena witnessed his open joy as one might the sunshine after being kept underground for months. It was sharp to look at and bizarre in its foreignness, but no less warming for it.
So there was a man and a soul in there somewhere.
Her smile twisting into a thoughtful smirk, Neena’s mind was already making promises and challenges to herself that she would do what she could to drag more of the same from the man. Even if it meant him looking just a little ridiculous with so large shoulders shaking with such mirth. From a towering warrior to a pussycat in a second flat, she thought.
When young warriors and men collected around her, daggers being waved towards her in a manner that was only slightly alarming for the safety of her nose and hilts being pushed into her palms, Neena smiled, nodded and made all the impressions and none of the promises to help the fighters improve their skills. For she had no idea that Hasani was merrily promising her skills to doing exactly that. The noise of awed comments and questions drowned out anything that Hasani had to say, whilst also hiding him entirely from her view. A short woman at the best of times, amongst the warriors of the Zaire – chosen and honed for their size and strength – Neena felt a tad claustrophobic, as she was forced to cower within a large pack of excited and nubile warriors.
Neena loved to have a little fun. It was no secret to her that life was just genuinely a nicer thing to experience and live within if you sought the positives and the chances for hilarity where you could. As her life had taken her from one poor situation to a challenging one, back and forth between slavery and into periods of time where she was every epitome of the word ‘alone’, Neena had learnt a single and important lesson that would shape her world view from that point onwards.
Your mood and your life, was a choice.
Yes, the world could throw hard times upon you, yes, the circumstances that surrounded your practical world could change and sadden you. But whilst your impulsive and instinctive feelings were hard to negate, how you then reacted to them was entirely within your remit of choice. Did you continue to be sad, continue to be angry? Or did you let the matter go, shake off the disappointment and deliberately turn your thoughts to happier times?
Neena could have continued to hold a grudge against Hasani for yelling or Jabari for doubting. Instead, however, she chose only to indicate how wrong they had been (particularly the latter) in a manner that was humorous, encouraging and (she hoped) not as insulting as a violent outburst or defensive argument. What good would that do her? What help would it offer? How would being mad and upsetting others improve her life?
In short, it wouldn’t. And Neena had long ago learnt that such nonsense was the stuff of children. Whilst she didn’t exactly consider herself to be some enlightened example of maturity, she knew enough that this was the mentality with which she wished to live her life. With happiness over hurt.
So, when her handling of the situation left the cluster of tribesmen around her quiet and surprised, she waited to see if such a choice had been the wisest, her eyes scanning the crowd subtly from her peripheral vision in the hopes that something would break the tension.
What shattered it, in the very best way as far as Neena was concerned, was a guffaw of laughter that came from the Leier. Her head swinging around to see if such a thing was truly possible, Neena’s soft smile of showmanship spread into her most natural and shining beam at the laugh that issued from Hasani.
Realising in that moment that she had yet to have a true conversation with the man and not the leader, Neena witnessed his open joy as one might the sunshine after being kept underground for months. It was sharp to look at and bizarre in its foreignness, but no less warming for it.
So there was a man and a soul in there somewhere.
Her smile twisting into a thoughtful smirk, Neena’s mind was already making promises and challenges to herself that she would do what she could to drag more of the same from the man. Even if it meant him looking just a little ridiculous with so large shoulders shaking with such mirth. From a towering warrior to a pussycat in a second flat, she thought.
When young warriors and men collected around her, daggers being waved towards her in a manner that was only slightly alarming for the safety of her nose and hilts being pushed into her palms, Neena smiled, nodded and made all the impressions and none of the promises to help the fighters improve their skills. For she had no idea that Hasani was merrily promising her skills to doing exactly that. The noise of awed comments and questions drowned out anything that Hasani had to say, whilst also hiding him entirely from her view. A short woman at the best of times, amongst the warriors of the Zaire – chosen and honed for their size and strength – Neena felt a tad claustrophobic, as she was forced to cower within a large pack of excited and nubile warriors.
The mildly worrying fact of the matter was that Neena seemed to disappear from sight as the young warriors converged on her. Normally, this wouldn't have been that big of a deal, but he wanted to be sure that Neena wasn't being overwhelmed now that she had shown that she had a rather great skill that could be shared with the tribe. But not everyone who showed off really wanted to be used the way that the rest of the boys seemed to be intending. Hasani's own intention had been for the woman to simply demonstrate once or twice more, and then that would have been it.
If the boys couldn't grasp the concept from that little bit of a nudge in teaching, then they would have to find their training from one of the other warriors of the tribe. Neena was a slave, and though she was a slave to the tribe, Hasani had long noticed that if Neena had an interest or skill in anything at all, and one was to make her do a job related to such a skill, she lost interest extremely quickly. That was a quirk about the girl that Hasani found incredibly interesting, if not entirely confusing.
One thing that the leier needed the tribe to realize was that Neena was not a succedaneum for the actual warrior trainers of the tribe. The girl was an enigma and a wonder to many, but she was not here to teach every single boy individually. Hasani could already forsee that going to hell incredibly quickly. Hasani, too, moved from his position in the sands, motioning for his warriors to stay behind as he entered the fray of young warriors begging Neena to show them again how she threw her knives so perfectly. Jabari was the only one who followed, clearly embarrassed by what he had witnessed and what his punishment now was in relation to the young slave girl.
Shifting through the small crowd, Hasani came up behind Neena and placed a calm hand against the back of her neck, giving all of the boys a rather stern look. "Back to your positions, boys," Hasani ordered in a voice that was as calm as his voice, "Before you overwhelm the girl. You shall see more of her skill, but you will not bombard her. If you can not learn through distanced observation, then you need more practice with the hunters rather than the warriors," the leier declared, using his other hand in order to make a very clear shooing motion at the rest of the young warriors.
The boys all seemed to scatter at once, taking their knives with them and moving back to the massive line in the sand that they had been instructed to work from before. Hasani watched them with keen interest, a single eyebrow lifted in silent observation of some of the youngest, most untried members of his tribe. He knew that they were eager, especially because Neena herself was an enigma that most everyone couldn't crack. To learn something from her was such an exciting concept to them that many were still bouncing on the balls of their feet by the time that they were back at the line.
"Jabari and Neena will work with you for a few minutes longer, but then Neena will need to return to some of her own tasks," Hasani said calmly and shortly to the boys, "Once she walks off this field, you will ask no further questions or request any further demonstrations. You all have your own training and skills to worry for, or else your assessments may not go as you hoped," he said calmly, walking with Neena to the line that the boys were settled on. He intended to stand there as a guard, knowing how young warriors could get when adrenaline was high and something truly interested them.
There was a murmuring from the crowds that were watching, some of them gossiping about how interesting the slave girl seemed to keep making herself. If Neena wasn't careful, she would not be able to get anyone to leave her alone at any point of the day. especially if she kept revealing each useful skill that she had to everyone around her. Hasani himself had once tried to get her to use her skills with the children for something more useful, but that hadn't exactly worked out in the end.
He'd felt the slightest bit of pity when he had realized that she did not enjoy being ordered to do something as she did when she did it on her own. That was not her purpose as a slave, but there was something in him that was protective of how Neena felt. That was why the man stood beside her now, reaching down to his own person to offer her one of the throwing knives that had been on his own person. "Use this. They're more balanced than what the boys use," he whispered to Neena, giving a quiet nod to Jabari who was giving further instruction to the young warriors.
When Jabari finally turned back to Hasani and Neena, giving a slight nod of approval for Neena to demonstrate once more, Hasani finally let go of Neena, not wanting to hinder her movement or get himself whacked in the nose if she pulled her arm back further than he expected. That would have been a distaster waiting to happen and he did not feel like wandering to the medicine tents to tell his wife that a slave had broken his nose.
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The mildly worrying fact of the matter was that Neena seemed to disappear from sight as the young warriors converged on her. Normally, this wouldn't have been that big of a deal, but he wanted to be sure that Neena wasn't being overwhelmed now that she had shown that she had a rather great skill that could be shared with the tribe. But not everyone who showed off really wanted to be used the way that the rest of the boys seemed to be intending. Hasani's own intention had been for the woman to simply demonstrate once or twice more, and then that would have been it.
If the boys couldn't grasp the concept from that little bit of a nudge in teaching, then they would have to find their training from one of the other warriors of the tribe. Neena was a slave, and though she was a slave to the tribe, Hasani had long noticed that if Neena had an interest or skill in anything at all, and one was to make her do a job related to such a skill, she lost interest extremely quickly. That was a quirk about the girl that Hasani found incredibly interesting, if not entirely confusing.
One thing that the leier needed the tribe to realize was that Neena was not a succedaneum for the actual warrior trainers of the tribe. The girl was an enigma and a wonder to many, but she was not here to teach every single boy individually. Hasani could already forsee that going to hell incredibly quickly. Hasani, too, moved from his position in the sands, motioning for his warriors to stay behind as he entered the fray of young warriors begging Neena to show them again how she threw her knives so perfectly. Jabari was the only one who followed, clearly embarrassed by what he had witnessed and what his punishment now was in relation to the young slave girl.
Shifting through the small crowd, Hasani came up behind Neena and placed a calm hand against the back of her neck, giving all of the boys a rather stern look. "Back to your positions, boys," Hasani ordered in a voice that was as calm as his voice, "Before you overwhelm the girl. You shall see more of her skill, but you will not bombard her. If you can not learn through distanced observation, then you need more practice with the hunters rather than the warriors," the leier declared, using his other hand in order to make a very clear shooing motion at the rest of the young warriors.
The boys all seemed to scatter at once, taking their knives with them and moving back to the massive line in the sand that they had been instructed to work from before. Hasani watched them with keen interest, a single eyebrow lifted in silent observation of some of the youngest, most untried members of his tribe. He knew that they were eager, especially because Neena herself was an enigma that most everyone couldn't crack. To learn something from her was such an exciting concept to them that many were still bouncing on the balls of their feet by the time that they were back at the line.
"Jabari and Neena will work with you for a few minutes longer, but then Neena will need to return to some of her own tasks," Hasani said calmly and shortly to the boys, "Once she walks off this field, you will ask no further questions or request any further demonstrations. You all have your own training and skills to worry for, or else your assessments may not go as you hoped," he said calmly, walking with Neena to the line that the boys were settled on. He intended to stand there as a guard, knowing how young warriors could get when adrenaline was high and something truly interested them.
There was a murmuring from the crowds that were watching, some of them gossiping about how interesting the slave girl seemed to keep making herself. If Neena wasn't careful, she would not be able to get anyone to leave her alone at any point of the day. especially if she kept revealing each useful skill that she had to everyone around her. Hasani himself had once tried to get her to use her skills with the children for something more useful, but that hadn't exactly worked out in the end.
He'd felt the slightest bit of pity when he had realized that she did not enjoy being ordered to do something as she did when she did it on her own. That was not her purpose as a slave, but there was something in him that was protective of how Neena felt. That was why the man stood beside her now, reaching down to his own person to offer her one of the throwing knives that had been on his own person. "Use this. They're more balanced than what the boys use," he whispered to Neena, giving a quiet nod to Jabari who was giving further instruction to the young warriors.
When Jabari finally turned back to Hasani and Neena, giving a slight nod of approval for Neena to demonstrate once more, Hasani finally let go of Neena, not wanting to hinder her movement or get himself whacked in the nose if she pulled her arm back further than he expected. That would have been a distaster waiting to happen and he did not feel like wandering to the medicine tents to tell his wife that a slave had broken his nose.
The mildly worrying fact of the matter was that Neena seemed to disappear from sight as the young warriors converged on her. Normally, this wouldn't have been that big of a deal, but he wanted to be sure that Neena wasn't being overwhelmed now that she had shown that she had a rather great skill that could be shared with the tribe. But not everyone who showed off really wanted to be used the way that the rest of the boys seemed to be intending. Hasani's own intention had been for the woman to simply demonstrate once or twice more, and then that would have been it.
If the boys couldn't grasp the concept from that little bit of a nudge in teaching, then they would have to find their training from one of the other warriors of the tribe. Neena was a slave, and though she was a slave to the tribe, Hasani had long noticed that if Neena had an interest or skill in anything at all, and one was to make her do a job related to such a skill, she lost interest extremely quickly. That was a quirk about the girl that Hasani found incredibly interesting, if not entirely confusing.
One thing that the leier needed the tribe to realize was that Neena was not a succedaneum for the actual warrior trainers of the tribe. The girl was an enigma and a wonder to many, but she was not here to teach every single boy individually. Hasani could already forsee that going to hell incredibly quickly. Hasani, too, moved from his position in the sands, motioning for his warriors to stay behind as he entered the fray of young warriors begging Neena to show them again how she threw her knives so perfectly. Jabari was the only one who followed, clearly embarrassed by what he had witnessed and what his punishment now was in relation to the young slave girl.
Shifting through the small crowd, Hasani came up behind Neena and placed a calm hand against the back of her neck, giving all of the boys a rather stern look. "Back to your positions, boys," Hasani ordered in a voice that was as calm as his voice, "Before you overwhelm the girl. You shall see more of her skill, but you will not bombard her. If you can not learn through distanced observation, then you need more practice with the hunters rather than the warriors," the leier declared, using his other hand in order to make a very clear shooing motion at the rest of the young warriors.
The boys all seemed to scatter at once, taking their knives with them and moving back to the massive line in the sand that they had been instructed to work from before. Hasani watched them with keen interest, a single eyebrow lifted in silent observation of some of the youngest, most untried members of his tribe. He knew that they were eager, especially because Neena herself was an enigma that most everyone couldn't crack. To learn something from her was such an exciting concept to them that many were still bouncing on the balls of their feet by the time that they were back at the line.
"Jabari and Neena will work with you for a few minutes longer, but then Neena will need to return to some of her own tasks," Hasani said calmly and shortly to the boys, "Once she walks off this field, you will ask no further questions or request any further demonstrations. You all have your own training and skills to worry for, or else your assessments may not go as you hoped," he said calmly, walking with Neena to the line that the boys were settled on. He intended to stand there as a guard, knowing how young warriors could get when adrenaline was high and something truly interested them.
There was a murmuring from the crowds that were watching, some of them gossiping about how interesting the slave girl seemed to keep making herself. If Neena wasn't careful, she would not be able to get anyone to leave her alone at any point of the day. especially if she kept revealing each useful skill that she had to everyone around her. Hasani himself had once tried to get her to use her skills with the children for something more useful, but that hadn't exactly worked out in the end.
He'd felt the slightest bit of pity when he had realized that she did not enjoy being ordered to do something as she did when she did it on her own. That was not her purpose as a slave, but there was something in him that was protective of how Neena felt. That was why the man stood beside her now, reaching down to his own person to offer her one of the throwing knives that had been on his own person. "Use this. They're more balanced than what the boys use," he whispered to Neena, giving a quiet nod to Jabari who was giving further instruction to the young warriors.
When Jabari finally turned back to Hasani and Neena, giving a slight nod of approval for Neena to demonstrate once more, Hasani finally let go of Neena, not wanting to hinder her movement or get himself whacked in the nose if she pulled her arm back further than he expected. That would have been a distaster waiting to happen and he did not feel like wandering to the medicine tents to tell his wife that a slave had broken his nose.
A tad on the claustrophobic side, Neena tried to handle the approach of the warriors herself. From her point of view, she couldn't see that the Leier was approaching the little group of men with the intent on freeing her from their enthusiasm. And even if she could have, she would still have sought to fix the issue herself. Her life on the streets, waters and deserts of the world she had explored, alone and reliant on her own skills, was what had made her learn to be the jack of all trades that she was. But it had also led to an independent streak that, to most, appeared almost belligerently stubborn. This wasn't not the case and Neena did not shun the help of others. She just didn't naturally expect it. It was easier to assume that you were alone in the world and rely on your own abilities and perhaps be pleasantly surprised when you were given an accomplice by fate, than it was to expect help that might never come.
So, as the large, male bodies clambered in around her, Neena was quick to raise her hands, the blades of the daggers someone had pressed into them, pointed down and her thumbs curled around their hilts. She warded off the advances of the men, with the weapons kept safe and not likely to accidentally catch anyone, her mouth forming noises that one might give to a horse you were attempting to slow down - "whoa, whoa, okay steady there...".
When the men asked her to show them again what she had just done, she gave a thumbs up as best she could. When the wanted her to use their daggers and test them to see if it was the dagger or themselves that was the problem, her eyes narrowed a little in confusion - could daggers be wrong? - she had always just operated with whatever blades she could lay her hands on at the time. When another grabbed her wrist and tried to have her fingers feel around his own grip to check that he was holding his weapon right, Neena felt her heart rate skip a moment in shock and then calm before she patted the back of his hand with the flush of her fingers and told him she might be able to check for him later.
It was then, as she was starting to truly feel uncomfortable with the close proximity of the men around her that Neena felt a towering presence behind her. A sort of block of energy that would have had her spinning around in fright or self-defence if she had had the space to. Instead, however, the voice that came over her shoulder identified the presence as someone safe. And yet the tone was disappointing all the same. For it appeared that the Laughing Man was gone and had been replaced by the Leader once again.
When a touch appeared on the back of Neena's neck, she jumped. Someone who liked her own space and her own liberty, and who was so active and all over the place that any physical touch she engaged in was always fleeting and in the midst of a scramble with kids or in helping another slave lift something. To have someone - a man - lay a hand upon her neck had her shocked a little from her skin and her skin itself rising in little patches of gooseflesh. A shiver ran down her spine but it wasn't from cold because Hasani's hand was hot to the touch.
A defensive tension set up between Neena's shoulders, as if she wanted to shrug away the touch and be free once more, her instinct always to never allow another to hold power over her - be that spirit or body. But as her spine undulated at the idea, she felt the softness of Hasani's touch and the way in which it ensured the other men backed away quickly and she accepted it as an easy means to an end. Even if it was odd to have a man touch her in a manner that claimed her as his.
For it wasn't as if such a thing had ever happened to her before.
Putting aside thoughts of a chastity she had never worshipped as something special but had also never given away from her mind, Neena swallowed and broke away from Hasani when he ordered that she would be able to display her skills to the men again but, following that, there was to be no hounding of her for further demonstrations. Her long neck turned to look upon the man with a quizzical look of consideration. Just what exactly did he mean to insist that she was left along after this lesson? And why had he determined that a skill in a slave - a person he owned and could order as he wished - was not to be made use of at every opportunity? He had been quick to do so when he had seen her skill with the children. Why not now?
Curiouser and curiouser... Neena thought to herself, realising that instead of a handsome and simple block of a man, Hasani was becoming more intriguing by the minute.
But she set aside such curiosities for the matter at hand and turned to the little group of fighters. Her eyes landed on Jabari and how he was encouraging in his gaze this time, permitting that she was good with blades, even if she was a woman. It was odd how Bedoa was often considered the be a backwards nation when it came to the roles of gender. But had Neena tried to give weaponry lessons as a female in Greece, she would have never received the acceptance or respect offered to her now. In Bedoa, life was a necessity. And whilst women were to be owned, looked after and protected by their menfolk... there was a stupidity to the idea of denying a skill from a woman simply because it was odd for her to know it.
When Hasani's voice caught her attention once more, Neena found her palm - now empty that the men in question had taken back their blades and headed to their lesson's line up - full once more with the hilt of a fine-looking blade in shining condition. Hasani made a comment on their balance - whatever that meant - but clearly showed her a mark of respect to let her wield the weapons of the Leier.
Not one for self-recrimination or low self-esteem, Neena wasn't about to diminish herself before this man. But she also wasn't an idiot. She was a slave. She was the lowest of the low in the social world. So why was Hasani so often speaking with her, aiding her or, in this case, lending her his weapons? It was unnatural to help a slave such, or to claim a possessive stance over them. And Neena wasn’t sure whether she liked it, disliked it or just found it plain odd.
Either way, she took the proffered daggers and measured their weight in her palm. She took a few steps away from the Leier and, with an elegant stretch of her body in to a fine line, she sent the first of the daggers flying out towards the targets in question. With her previous strikes already removed from the body of the false victim, Neena was able to send both knives, one after another, flying head over tail and striking the marked centre of the target; one just above and one just below.
She then looked over at the men and at Jabari and raised her hands in a sort of shrug as if to say – I hope you learned something from that. Because that’s all I’ve got. Neena wasn’t a teacher – she was a performer. And as Hasani had said, if they couldn’t learn from simply observing her then they couldn’t learn at all – at least not from her.
Remembering what Hasani had said about having other duties to attend to, Neena then looked towards the Leier, patted her hands against her thighs awkwardly and then made a simple gesture that suggested that she was going to leave now, as if offering him the opportunity to stop her. Then, once such a chance had been given, Neena headed off back towards the sand dunes, wondering why she didn’t feel wholly comfortable remaining with the warriors and what the heck she was going to do with the rest of her day.
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This character is currently a work in progress.
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A tad on the claustrophobic side, Neena tried to handle the approach of the warriors herself. From her point of view, she couldn't see that the Leier was approaching the little group of men with the intent on freeing her from their enthusiasm. And even if she could have, she would still have sought to fix the issue herself. Her life on the streets, waters and deserts of the world she had explored, alone and reliant on her own skills, was what had made her learn to be the jack of all trades that she was. But it had also led to an independent streak that, to most, appeared almost belligerently stubborn. This wasn't not the case and Neena did not shun the help of others. She just didn't naturally expect it. It was easier to assume that you were alone in the world and rely on your own abilities and perhaps be pleasantly surprised when you were given an accomplice by fate, than it was to expect help that might never come.
So, as the large, male bodies clambered in around her, Neena was quick to raise her hands, the blades of the daggers someone had pressed into them, pointed down and her thumbs curled around their hilts. She warded off the advances of the men, with the weapons kept safe and not likely to accidentally catch anyone, her mouth forming noises that one might give to a horse you were attempting to slow down - "whoa, whoa, okay steady there...".
When the men asked her to show them again what she had just done, she gave a thumbs up as best she could. When the wanted her to use their daggers and test them to see if it was the dagger or themselves that was the problem, her eyes narrowed a little in confusion - could daggers be wrong? - she had always just operated with whatever blades she could lay her hands on at the time. When another grabbed her wrist and tried to have her fingers feel around his own grip to check that he was holding his weapon right, Neena felt her heart rate skip a moment in shock and then calm before she patted the back of his hand with the flush of her fingers and told him she might be able to check for him later.
It was then, as she was starting to truly feel uncomfortable with the close proximity of the men around her that Neena felt a towering presence behind her. A sort of block of energy that would have had her spinning around in fright or self-defence if she had had the space to. Instead, however, the voice that came over her shoulder identified the presence as someone safe. And yet the tone was disappointing all the same. For it appeared that the Laughing Man was gone and had been replaced by the Leader once again.
When a touch appeared on the back of Neena's neck, she jumped. Someone who liked her own space and her own liberty, and who was so active and all over the place that any physical touch she engaged in was always fleeting and in the midst of a scramble with kids or in helping another slave lift something. To have someone - a man - lay a hand upon her neck had her shocked a little from her skin and her skin itself rising in little patches of gooseflesh. A shiver ran down her spine but it wasn't from cold because Hasani's hand was hot to the touch.
A defensive tension set up between Neena's shoulders, as if she wanted to shrug away the touch and be free once more, her instinct always to never allow another to hold power over her - be that spirit or body. But as her spine undulated at the idea, she felt the softness of Hasani's touch and the way in which it ensured the other men backed away quickly and she accepted it as an easy means to an end. Even if it was odd to have a man touch her in a manner that claimed her as his.
For it wasn't as if such a thing had ever happened to her before.
Putting aside thoughts of a chastity she had never worshipped as something special but had also never given away from her mind, Neena swallowed and broke away from Hasani when he ordered that she would be able to display her skills to the men again but, following that, there was to be no hounding of her for further demonstrations. Her long neck turned to look upon the man with a quizzical look of consideration. Just what exactly did he mean to insist that she was left along after this lesson? And why had he determined that a skill in a slave - a person he owned and could order as he wished - was not to be made use of at every opportunity? He had been quick to do so when he had seen her skill with the children. Why not now?
Curiouser and curiouser... Neena thought to herself, realising that instead of a handsome and simple block of a man, Hasani was becoming more intriguing by the minute.
But she set aside such curiosities for the matter at hand and turned to the little group of fighters. Her eyes landed on Jabari and how he was encouraging in his gaze this time, permitting that she was good with blades, even if she was a woman. It was odd how Bedoa was often considered the be a backwards nation when it came to the roles of gender. But had Neena tried to give weaponry lessons as a female in Greece, she would have never received the acceptance or respect offered to her now. In Bedoa, life was a necessity. And whilst women were to be owned, looked after and protected by their menfolk... there was a stupidity to the idea of denying a skill from a woman simply because it was odd for her to know it.
When Hasani's voice caught her attention once more, Neena found her palm - now empty that the men in question had taken back their blades and headed to their lesson's line up - full once more with the hilt of a fine-looking blade in shining condition. Hasani made a comment on their balance - whatever that meant - but clearly showed her a mark of respect to let her wield the weapons of the Leier.
Not one for self-recrimination or low self-esteem, Neena wasn't about to diminish herself before this man. But she also wasn't an idiot. She was a slave. She was the lowest of the low in the social world. So why was Hasani so often speaking with her, aiding her or, in this case, lending her his weapons? It was unnatural to help a slave such, or to claim a possessive stance over them. And Neena wasn’t sure whether she liked it, disliked it or just found it plain odd.
Either way, she took the proffered daggers and measured their weight in her palm. She took a few steps away from the Leier and, with an elegant stretch of her body in to a fine line, she sent the first of the daggers flying out towards the targets in question. With her previous strikes already removed from the body of the false victim, Neena was able to send both knives, one after another, flying head over tail and striking the marked centre of the target; one just above and one just below.
She then looked over at the men and at Jabari and raised her hands in a sort of shrug as if to say – I hope you learned something from that. Because that’s all I’ve got. Neena wasn’t a teacher – she was a performer. And as Hasani had said, if they couldn’t learn from simply observing her then they couldn’t learn at all – at least not from her.
Remembering what Hasani had said about having other duties to attend to, Neena then looked towards the Leier, patted her hands against her thighs awkwardly and then made a simple gesture that suggested that she was going to leave now, as if offering him the opportunity to stop her. Then, once such a chance had been given, Neena headed off back towards the sand dunes, wondering why she didn’t feel wholly comfortable remaining with the warriors and what the heck she was going to do with the rest of her day.
A tad on the claustrophobic side, Neena tried to handle the approach of the warriors herself. From her point of view, she couldn't see that the Leier was approaching the little group of men with the intent on freeing her from their enthusiasm. And even if she could have, she would still have sought to fix the issue herself. Her life on the streets, waters and deserts of the world she had explored, alone and reliant on her own skills, was what had made her learn to be the jack of all trades that she was. But it had also led to an independent streak that, to most, appeared almost belligerently stubborn. This wasn't not the case and Neena did not shun the help of others. She just didn't naturally expect it. It was easier to assume that you were alone in the world and rely on your own abilities and perhaps be pleasantly surprised when you were given an accomplice by fate, than it was to expect help that might never come.
So, as the large, male bodies clambered in around her, Neena was quick to raise her hands, the blades of the daggers someone had pressed into them, pointed down and her thumbs curled around their hilts. She warded off the advances of the men, with the weapons kept safe and not likely to accidentally catch anyone, her mouth forming noises that one might give to a horse you were attempting to slow down - "whoa, whoa, okay steady there...".
When the men asked her to show them again what she had just done, she gave a thumbs up as best she could. When the wanted her to use their daggers and test them to see if it was the dagger or themselves that was the problem, her eyes narrowed a little in confusion - could daggers be wrong? - she had always just operated with whatever blades she could lay her hands on at the time. When another grabbed her wrist and tried to have her fingers feel around his own grip to check that he was holding his weapon right, Neena felt her heart rate skip a moment in shock and then calm before she patted the back of his hand with the flush of her fingers and told him she might be able to check for him later.
It was then, as she was starting to truly feel uncomfortable with the close proximity of the men around her that Neena felt a towering presence behind her. A sort of block of energy that would have had her spinning around in fright or self-defence if she had had the space to. Instead, however, the voice that came over her shoulder identified the presence as someone safe. And yet the tone was disappointing all the same. For it appeared that the Laughing Man was gone and had been replaced by the Leader once again.
When a touch appeared on the back of Neena's neck, she jumped. Someone who liked her own space and her own liberty, and who was so active and all over the place that any physical touch she engaged in was always fleeting and in the midst of a scramble with kids or in helping another slave lift something. To have someone - a man - lay a hand upon her neck had her shocked a little from her skin and her skin itself rising in little patches of gooseflesh. A shiver ran down her spine but it wasn't from cold because Hasani's hand was hot to the touch.
A defensive tension set up between Neena's shoulders, as if she wanted to shrug away the touch and be free once more, her instinct always to never allow another to hold power over her - be that spirit or body. But as her spine undulated at the idea, she felt the softness of Hasani's touch and the way in which it ensured the other men backed away quickly and she accepted it as an easy means to an end. Even if it was odd to have a man touch her in a manner that claimed her as his.
For it wasn't as if such a thing had ever happened to her before.
Putting aside thoughts of a chastity she had never worshipped as something special but had also never given away from her mind, Neena swallowed and broke away from Hasani when he ordered that she would be able to display her skills to the men again but, following that, there was to be no hounding of her for further demonstrations. Her long neck turned to look upon the man with a quizzical look of consideration. Just what exactly did he mean to insist that she was left along after this lesson? And why had he determined that a skill in a slave - a person he owned and could order as he wished - was not to be made use of at every opportunity? He had been quick to do so when he had seen her skill with the children. Why not now?
Curiouser and curiouser... Neena thought to herself, realising that instead of a handsome and simple block of a man, Hasani was becoming more intriguing by the minute.
But she set aside such curiosities for the matter at hand and turned to the little group of fighters. Her eyes landed on Jabari and how he was encouraging in his gaze this time, permitting that she was good with blades, even if she was a woman. It was odd how Bedoa was often considered the be a backwards nation when it came to the roles of gender. But had Neena tried to give weaponry lessons as a female in Greece, she would have never received the acceptance or respect offered to her now. In Bedoa, life was a necessity. And whilst women were to be owned, looked after and protected by their menfolk... there was a stupidity to the idea of denying a skill from a woman simply because it was odd for her to know it.
When Hasani's voice caught her attention once more, Neena found her palm - now empty that the men in question had taken back their blades and headed to their lesson's line up - full once more with the hilt of a fine-looking blade in shining condition. Hasani made a comment on their balance - whatever that meant - but clearly showed her a mark of respect to let her wield the weapons of the Leier.
Not one for self-recrimination or low self-esteem, Neena wasn't about to diminish herself before this man. But she also wasn't an idiot. She was a slave. She was the lowest of the low in the social world. So why was Hasani so often speaking with her, aiding her or, in this case, lending her his weapons? It was unnatural to help a slave such, or to claim a possessive stance over them. And Neena wasn’t sure whether she liked it, disliked it or just found it plain odd.
Either way, she took the proffered daggers and measured their weight in her palm. She took a few steps away from the Leier and, with an elegant stretch of her body in to a fine line, she sent the first of the daggers flying out towards the targets in question. With her previous strikes already removed from the body of the false victim, Neena was able to send both knives, one after another, flying head over tail and striking the marked centre of the target; one just above and one just below.
She then looked over at the men and at Jabari and raised her hands in a sort of shrug as if to say – I hope you learned something from that. Because that’s all I’ve got. Neena wasn’t a teacher – she was a performer. And as Hasani had said, if they couldn’t learn from simply observing her then they couldn’t learn at all – at least not from her.
Remembering what Hasani had said about having other duties to attend to, Neena then looked towards the Leier, patted her hands against her thighs awkwardly and then made a simple gesture that suggested that she was going to leave now, as if offering him the opportunity to stop her. Then, once such a chance had been given, Neena headed off back towards the sand dunes, wondering why she didn’t feel wholly comfortable remaining with the warriors and what the heck she was going to do with the rest of her day.
The show that Neena put on would not be easy to learn from, but as soon as she was done, Hasani watched as the boys started to try and emulate her movements. The way that her body stretched and arched and the way that her arms moved and her wrist snapped. Even Hasani watched, findinng himself all the more curious for how she had learned such things. Neena was often an open book. Anything someone could ask her, she would answer, even if she gave the most simple and round about answer possible, expecting one to be able to grasp it without further comment.
But then Hasani was motioning for Neena that she could go and get back to the other duties that people would impress upon her throughout the day. Jabari was holding off the boys from throwing their knives until Hasani marched across the sands and took his own blades back for himself. Not wanting them to get lost in the fray of young warriors' tools, Hasani was careful to slip them all back into their leather sheathes, taking his time making it back to the crowd on the outside of the training field that they had set up.
His own dark shoulders were tense, his expression pensive, and while Jabari began to instruct the boys once more, Hasani found himself glancing sideways at one of the elder women. "Grandma," he said in quiet greeting, letting the woman pat his arm gently.
At first, the old woman didn't say anything, her craggy face filled with thought and consideration. Then, looking right up into his face, she grinned, not afraid to show that she was missing a few teeth. Hasani frowned at her carefully, wondering what wisdom she was to impart upon him after that scene that both he and Neena had caused just a few minutes before. "Yes?" the young leier asked carefully, trying not to look too ruffled by her almost gleeful expression.
"You haven't taken a second wife, but I think you could," the old woman patted his arm again. Hasani tensed even further and when he turned to stare down at the elder Zaire woman, she was already gone, walking off with a few of her little grandchildren and chattering happily with them. Hasani's brows had lifted almost up into his hairline and he had to glance around him to see if anyone else had heard the boldness of the elder. A few of the other elders behind him snickered and chuckled and the leier found himself rolling his eyes to the sky.
The business of the leier, after all, was actually the business of the entire tribe. There were few secrets here. One lived and died with their people and it was difficult to escape gossip, which was hardly gossip, though it would be treated as good news, most likely. If the leier could groan out loud, he would have. Instead, he nodded once at Jabari and the remaining warriors working on the training and then extricated himself from the crowd of onlookers.
Rattled beyond most thought, he figured that doing his rounds would keep his mind away from whatever the old woman was implying, though his thoughts continued to wander back to Neena. Maybe it wasn't just curiosity he felt. Wonder, maybe. But he also debated with himself. Did he feel anything more than curiosity, or did he truly feel that she could be someone more than just... Neena? A slave of the Zaire.
He found himself a little unbalanced by the thought, unsure why he found himself nervous or mildly uncomfortable, though he thought of Tanishe and debated what it would actually be like to declare that he wanted to take on another wife...
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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The show that Neena put on would not be easy to learn from, but as soon as she was done, Hasani watched as the boys started to try and emulate her movements. The way that her body stretched and arched and the way that her arms moved and her wrist snapped. Even Hasani watched, findinng himself all the more curious for how she had learned such things. Neena was often an open book. Anything someone could ask her, she would answer, even if she gave the most simple and round about answer possible, expecting one to be able to grasp it without further comment.
But then Hasani was motioning for Neena that she could go and get back to the other duties that people would impress upon her throughout the day. Jabari was holding off the boys from throwing their knives until Hasani marched across the sands and took his own blades back for himself. Not wanting them to get lost in the fray of young warriors' tools, Hasani was careful to slip them all back into their leather sheathes, taking his time making it back to the crowd on the outside of the training field that they had set up.
His own dark shoulders were tense, his expression pensive, and while Jabari began to instruct the boys once more, Hasani found himself glancing sideways at one of the elder women. "Grandma," he said in quiet greeting, letting the woman pat his arm gently.
At first, the old woman didn't say anything, her craggy face filled with thought and consideration. Then, looking right up into his face, she grinned, not afraid to show that she was missing a few teeth. Hasani frowned at her carefully, wondering what wisdom she was to impart upon him after that scene that both he and Neena had caused just a few minutes before. "Yes?" the young leier asked carefully, trying not to look too ruffled by her almost gleeful expression.
"You haven't taken a second wife, but I think you could," the old woman patted his arm again. Hasani tensed even further and when he turned to stare down at the elder Zaire woman, she was already gone, walking off with a few of her little grandchildren and chattering happily with them. Hasani's brows had lifted almost up into his hairline and he had to glance around him to see if anyone else had heard the boldness of the elder. A few of the other elders behind him snickered and chuckled and the leier found himself rolling his eyes to the sky.
The business of the leier, after all, was actually the business of the entire tribe. There were few secrets here. One lived and died with their people and it was difficult to escape gossip, which was hardly gossip, though it would be treated as good news, most likely. If the leier could groan out loud, he would have. Instead, he nodded once at Jabari and the remaining warriors working on the training and then extricated himself from the crowd of onlookers.
Rattled beyond most thought, he figured that doing his rounds would keep his mind away from whatever the old woman was implying, though his thoughts continued to wander back to Neena. Maybe it wasn't just curiosity he felt. Wonder, maybe. But he also debated with himself. Did he feel anything more than curiosity, or did he truly feel that she could be someone more than just... Neena? A slave of the Zaire.
He found himself a little unbalanced by the thought, unsure why he found himself nervous or mildly uncomfortable, though he thought of Tanishe and debated what it would actually be like to declare that he wanted to take on another wife...
The show that Neena put on would not be easy to learn from, but as soon as she was done, Hasani watched as the boys started to try and emulate her movements. The way that her body stretched and arched and the way that her arms moved and her wrist snapped. Even Hasani watched, findinng himself all the more curious for how she had learned such things. Neena was often an open book. Anything someone could ask her, she would answer, even if she gave the most simple and round about answer possible, expecting one to be able to grasp it without further comment.
But then Hasani was motioning for Neena that she could go and get back to the other duties that people would impress upon her throughout the day. Jabari was holding off the boys from throwing their knives until Hasani marched across the sands and took his own blades back for himself. Not wanting them to get lost in the fray of young warriors' tools, Hasani was careful to slip them all back into their leather sheathes, taking his time making it back to the crowd on the outside of the training field that they had set up.
His own dark shoulders were tense, his expression pensive, and while Jabari began to instruct the boys once more, Hasani found himself glancing sideways at one of the elder women. "Grandma," he said in quiet greeting, letting the woman pat his arm gently.
At first, the old woman didn't say anything, her craggy face filled with thought and consideration. Then, looking right up into his face, she grinned, not afraid to show that she was missing a few teeth. Hasani frowned at her carefully, wondering what wisdom she was to impart upon him after that scene that both he and Neena had caused just a few minutes before. "Yes?" the young leier asked carefully, trying not to look too ruffled by her almost gleeful expression.
"You haven't taken a second wife, but I think you could," the old woman patted his arm again. Hasani tensed even further and when he turned to stare down at the elder Zaire woman, she was already gone, walking off with a few of her little grandchildren and chattering happily with them. Hasani's brows had lifted almost up into his hairline and he had to glance around him to see if anyone else had heard the boldness of the elder. A few of the other elders behind him snickered and chuckled and the leier found himself rolling his eyes to the sky.
The business of the leier, after all, was actually the business of the entire tribe. There were few secrets here. One lived and died with their people and it was difficult to escape gossip, which was hardly gossip, though it would be treated as good news, most likely. If the leier could groan out loud, he would have. Instead, he nodded once at Jabari and the remaining warriors working on the training and then extricated himself from the crowd of onlookers.
Rattled beyond most thought, he figured that doing his rounds would keep his mind away from whatever the old woman was implying, though his thoughts continued to wander back to Neena. Maybe it wasn't just curiosity he felt. Wonder, maybe. But he also debated with himself. Did he feel anything more than curiosity, or did he truly feel that she could be someone more than just... Neena? A slave of the Zaire.
He found himself a little unbalanced by the thought, unsure why he found himself nervous or mildly uncomfortable, though he thought of Tanishe and debated what it would actually be like to declare that he wanted to take on another wife...