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It was this time of day that Hasani always seemed to value. The early morning hours, the time of the day where the sun was still comfortably below the horizon, ready to make its presence known to the desert sands and the people who inhabited them. The leier often found himself slipping out of the tent at this point of the morning, wanting to watch the sun rise as part of his waking rituals. The ways that he kept himself grounded and aware of his surroundings and his people. Sometimes, he did this as a hunt. Others, he simply sat beside one of the deadening fires and watched in the chilly air.
While the bathing tents were smothering and the whole purpose was to make them warmer than usual, Hasani like the cold that came with the earth's waking hours. Before the sun glared down upon them in a harsh effort to send them to their sandy graves.
Tanishe had gone on to meet another tribe with the intention of teaching a few of their tribe some healing techniques. It was not abnormal for members of the tribes to wander between tribes if one tribe had more of a skill that another did not. But that meant that one of the tribes foremost healers was not in the camp when one of the warriors burst from his tent with a harried expression on his features. Hasani looked up from his quiet watching of the sunrise and then rose quickly to his feet, "My wife!" the young warrior exclaimed, trying to stay somewhat quiet, "She's having our baby," he declared, looking desperately around for what healers might already have started their days like Hasani had.
And that was all it had taken for Hasani to move into action. A few of the healers were gathered and a few of the slaves, to help with the birth of a new baby. It was something they would celebrate later in the day when the child had made its way into the world. He briefly glanced Neena making her way into the hawe of the birthing mother, noting that she must have been one of the slaves chosen to help with the birth. While that alone was curious, Hasani did not stick his nose where it did not belong. Instead, he kept the fretting husband company, plying him with ale and goats milk and whatever food the other warriors could gather for the man.
It was hours before the first wails of a babe could be heard through the camp, and by that time, the sun had risen to its full height, making the day sweltering and hot, though no one really seemed bothered by the heat. They had been, after all, born in such a heat and they would die in such a heat. So long as they stayed hydrated, which, with a healthy amount of ale in Hasani's own belly, was not difficult to do with their equally healthy stock of supplies, it was easy to do.
Noting the cheering that sounded through the camp, Hasani found himself helping some of the other tribesmen set up a few washing stations so that the healers and the slaves that had been working hard at helping to birth a new child would have easy access to the water that would clean their skin. Childbirth was messy and it was one of the few tasks that the tribe allowed more use of water than what would have generally been normal.
Hasani lingered there, warm and happy from the drink, but also watching for the curiosity that was Neena to exit the birthing hawe and make her presence known. Usually, only the slaves with practice in birthing were allowed to assist, and that raised even more questions in a mountain of them that Hasani had built up about Neena.
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This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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It was this time of day that Hasani always seemed to value. The early morning hours, the time of the day where the sun was still comfortably below the horizon, ready to make its presence known to the desert sands and the people who inhabited them. The leier often found himself slipping out of the tent at this point of the morning, wanting to watch the sun rise as part of his waking rituals. The ways that he kept himself grounded and aware of his surroundings and his people. Sometimes, he did this as a hunt. Others, he simply sat beside one of the deadening fires and watched in the chilly air.
While the bathing tents were smothering and the whole purpose was to make them warmer than usual, Hasani like the cold that came with the earth's waking hours. Before the sun glared down upon them in a harsh effort to send them to their sandy graves.
Tanishe had gone on to meet another tribe with the intention of teaching a few of their tribe some healing techniques. It was not abnormal for members of the tribes to wander between tribes if one tribe had more of a skill that another did not. But that meant that one of the tribes foremost healers was not in the camp when one of the warriors burst from his tent with a harried expression on his features. Hasani looked up from his quiet watching of the sunrise and then rose quickly to his feet, "My wife!" the young warrior exclaimed, trying to stay somewhat quiet, "She's having our baby," he declared, looking desperately around for what healers might already have started their days like Hasani had.
And that was all it had taken for Hasani to move into action. A few of the healers were gathered and a few of the slaves, to help with the birth of a new baby. It was something they would celebrate later in the day when the child had made its way into the world. He briefly glanced Neena making her way into the hawe of the birthing mother, noting that she must have been one of the slaves chosen to help with the birth. While that alone was curious, Hasani did not stick his nose where it did not belong. Instead, he kept the fretting husband company, plying him with ale and goats milk and whatever food the other warriors could gather for the man.
It was hours before the first wails of a babe could be heard through the camp, and by that time, the sun had risen to its full height, making the day sweltering and hot, though no one really seemed bothered by the heat. They had been, after all, born in such a heat and they would die in such a heat. So long as they stayed hydrated, which, with a healthy amount of ale in Hasani's own belly, was not difficult to do with their equally healthy stock of supplies, it was easy to do.
Noting the cheering that sounded through the camp, Hasani found himself helping some of the other tribesmen set up a few washing stations so that the healers and the slaves that had been working hard at helping to birth a new child would have easy access to the water that would clean their skin. Childbirth was messy and it was one of the few tasks that the tribe allowed more use of water than what would have generally been normal.
Hasani lingered there, warm and happy from the drink, but also watching for the curiosity that was Neena to exit the birthing hawe and make her presence known. Usually, only the slaves with practice in birthing were allowed to assist, and that raised even more questions in a mountain of them that Hasani had built up about Neena.
It was this time of day that Hasani always seemed to value. The early morning hours, the time of the day where the sun was still comfortably below the horizon, ready to make its presence known to the desert sands and the people who inhabited them. The leier often found himself slipping out of the tent at this point of the morning, wanting to watch the sun rise as part of his waking rituals. The ways that he kept himself grounded and aware of his surroundings and his people. Sometimes, he did this as a hunt. Others, he simply sat beside one of the deadening fires and watched in the chilly air.
While the bathing tents were smothering and the whole purpose was to make them warmer than usual, Hasani like the cold that came with the earth's waking hours. Before the sun glared down upon them in a harsh effort to send them to their sandy graves.
Tanishe had gone on to meet another tribe with the intention of teaching a few of their tribe some healing techniques. It was not abnormal for members of the tribes to wander between tribes if one tribe had more of a skill that another did not. But that meant that one of the tribes foremost healers was not in the camp when one of the warriors burst from his tent with a harried expression on his features. Hasani looked up from his quiet watching of the sunrise and then rose quickly to his feet, "My wife!" the young warrior exclaimed, trying to stay somewhat quiet, "She's having our baby," he declared, looking desperately around for what healers might already have started their days like Hasani had.
And that was all it had taken for Hasani to move into action. A few of the healers were gathered and a few of the slaves, to help with the birth of a new baby. It was something they would celebrate later in the day when the child had made its way into the world. He briefly glanced Neena making her way into the hawe of the birthing mother, noting that she must have been one of the slaves chosen to help with the birth. While that alone was curious, Hasani did not stick his nose where it did not belong. Instead, he kept the fretting husband company, plying him with ale and goats milk and whatever food the other warriors could gather for the man.
It was hours before the first wails of a babe could be heard through the camp, and by that time, the sun had risen to its full height, making the day sweltering and hot, though no one really seemed bothered by the heat. They had been, after all, born in such a heat and they would die in such a heat. So long as they stayed hydrated, which, with a healthy amount of ale in Hasani's own belly, was not difficult to do with their equally healthy stock of supplies, it was easy to do.
Noting the cheering that sounded through the camp, Hasani found himself helping some of the other tribesmen set up a few washing stations so that the healers and the slaves that had been working hard at helping to birth a new child would have easy access to the water that would clean their skin. Childbirth was messy and it was one of the few tasks that the tribe allowed more use of water than what would have generally been normal.
Hasani lingered there, warm and happy from the drink, but also watching for the curiosity that was Neena to exit the birthing hawe and make her presence known. Usually, only the slaves with practice in birthing were allowed to assist, and that raised even more questions in a mountain of them that Hasani had built up about Neena.
Neena was a fairly light sleeper. You had to be when you lived on the streets - able to jolt from slumber to wakefulness almost instantaneously. She knew what it was like to be dragged quickly into consciousness by a captain who needed help with the ship in a storm, or a woman who needed tending to in the wee hours of the morning when pain shot down her spine.
This time, it was another slave, kicking out a foot against the small of Neena's back with a jolt that was both rude and painful. Whether the striking of the foot was done for malicious purpose or just from the rush of panic that left the slave no time for care, Neena wasn't sure. But she simply groaned, lamented the bruise for a second and then turned to see the other woman looking panicked over a birthing. Such words tripped over her tongue as she beckoned Neena to her feet and hurried her from the little hawe she occupied.
The slaves’ tents were little more than a single kaftan held above the floor just enough for them to slide under and beneath. They rarely had proper floors - with only a single sheet to cover the sand - but Neena had slept in far worse.
Quick to pull on her tunic and sandals and then sidle out from beneath her little hawe, Neena followed the woman through the gesin and towards the appropriate tent.
Surprised that the Leierin was not attending the birth, Neena didn't ask where she might be and simply followed the others healers and their appropriate slaves inside. With little to no experience birthing babies, Neena had been chosen for her skills in medicine. If the mother needed stitching, if the body needed tending to, she could help with that. In terms of the actual birthing process, Neena had delivered exactly one baby and one mule. It was enough to know the basic mechanics at least.
Several hours later - which was actually quite quick compared to the birthings she had attended before - Neena was left to clean around the new mother and ensure that there was sheets and kaftans for her comfort, laid cleanly beneath her and that she was tidy and free of blood. Her babe was taken by one of the healers to be washed and when all was said and done, Neena was left with the clean away the bloodied sheets and the remains of what had once been a carefully made up infirmary cot.
By the time the menial tasks had been completed, Neena was the last to leave the birthing tent and smeared in crimson to the elbows. Her tunic was stained, there was a smudge of red across one cheek and she smelt of iron.
Not noticing that she had an audience when she left the birthing tent, her lower arms held up and leading with her shoulder, Neena kept out of people's way and headed for the large bowl holding water. She lowered her arms into the now warmed depths and picked up a rag cloth draped over its edge for the means of scrubbing at her skin.
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Neena was a fairly light sleeper. You had to be when you lived on the streets - able to jolt from slumber to wakefulness almost instantaneously. She knew what it was like to be dragged quickly into consciousness by a captain who needed help with the ship in a storm, or a woman who needed tending to in the wee hours of the morning when pain shot down her spine.
This time, it was another slave, kicking out a foot against the small of Neena's back with a jolt that was both rude and painful. Whether the striking of the foot was done for malicious purpose or just from the rush of panic that left the slave no time for care, Neena wasn't sure. But she simply groaned, lamented the bruise for a second and then turned to see the other woman looking panicked over a birthing. Such words tripped over her tongue as she beckoned Neena to her feet and hurried her from the little hawe she occupied.
The slaves’ tents were little more than a single kaftan held above the floor just enough for them to slide under and beneath. They rarely had proper floors - with only a single sheet to cover the sand - but Neena had slept in far worse.
Quick to pull on her tunic and sandals and then sidle out from beneath her little hawe, Neena followed the woman through the gesin and towards the appropriate tent.
Surprised that the Leierin was not attending the birth, Neena didn't ask where she might be and simply followed the others healers and their appropriate slaves inside. With little to no experience birthing babies, Neena had been chosen for her skills in medicine. If the mother needed stitching, if the body needed tending to, she could help with that. In terms of the actual birthing process, Neena had delivered exactly one baby and one mule. It was enough to know the basic mechanics at least.
Several hours later - which was actually quite quick compared to the birthings she had attended before - Neena was left to clean around the new mother and ensure that there was sheets and kaftans for her comfort, laid cleanly beneath her and that she was tidy and free of blood. Her babe was taken by one of the healers to be washed and when all was said and done, Neena was left with the clean away the bloodied sheets and the remains of what had once been a carefully made up infirmary cot.
By the time the menial tasks had been completed, Neena was the last to leave the birthing tent and smeared in crimson to the elbows. Her tunic was stained, there was a smudge of red across one cheek and she smelt of iron.
Not noticing that she had an audience when she left the birthing tent, her lower arms held up and leading with her shoulder, Neena kept out of people's way and headed for the large bowl holding water. She lowered her arms into the now warmed depths and picked up a rag cloth draped over its edge for the means of scrubbing at her skin.
Neena was a fairly light sleeper. You had to be when you lived on the streets - able to jolt from slumber to wakefulness almost instantaneously. She knew what it was like to be dragged quickly into consciousness by a captain who needed help with the ship in a storm, or a woman who needed tending to in the wee hours of the morning when pain shot down her spine.
This time, it was another slave, kicking out a foot against the small of Neena's back with a jolt that was both rude and painful. Whether the striking of the foot was done for malicious purpose or just from the rush of panic that left the slave no time for care, Neena wasn't sure. But she simply groaned, lamented the bruise for a second and then turned to see the other woman looking panicked over a birthing. Such words tripped over her tongue as she beckoned Neena to her feet and hurried her from the little hawe she occupied.
The slaves’ tents were little more than a single kaftan held above the floor just enough for them to slide under and beneath. They rarely had proper floors - with only a single sheet to cover the sand - but Neena had slept in far worse.
Quick to pull on her tunic and sandals and then sidle out from beneath her little hawe, Neena followed the woman through the gesin and towards the appropriate tent.
Surprised that the Leierin was not attending the birth, Neena didn't ask where she might be and simply followed the others healers and their appropriate slaves inside. With little to no experience birthing babies, Neena had been chosen for her skills in medicine. If the mother needed stitching, if the body needed tending to, she could help with that. In terms of the actual birthing process, Neena had delivered exactly one baby and one mule. It was enough to know the basic mechanics at least.
Several hours later - which was actually quite quick compared to the birthings she had attended before - Neena was left to clean around the new mother and ensure that there was sheets and kaftans for her comfort, laid cleanly beneath her and that she was tidy and free of blood. Her babe was taken by one of the healers to be washed and when all was said and done, Neena was left with the clean away the bloodied sheets and the remains of what had once been a carefully made up infirmary cot.
By the time the menial tasks had been completed, Neena was the last to leave the birthing tent and smeared in crimson to the elbows. Her tunic was stained, there was a smudge of red across one cheek and she smelt of iron.
Not noticing that she had an audience when she left the birthing tent, her lower arms held up and leading with her shoulder, Neena kept out of people's way and headed for the large bowl holding water. She lowered her arms into the now warmed depths and picked up a rag cloth draped over its edge for the means of scrubbing at her skin.
Hasani's gaze followed Neena the moment she exited the tent. Seeing blood was not at all surprising in the normal sense that Hasani had seen a lot of it over the years. But with each and every birth within the tribe, Hasani still couldn't still the shock within himself about how much blood was involved. It constantly had him wondering if all was right with mother and child, but there would be less celebrating and more sadness in this moment if either had passed on. The leier took this as a good measure of health for both parties and glanced back to the fire for just a moment.
Passing the skin of wine off to the next warrior in the circle, the man placed both of his hands on his knees and pressed himself up to his full height from where he had set a full pitcher of warmed water in the sand in hopes it would stay warm. Neena was the last of the slaves to leave the hawe, and Hasani was sure that the bowl of water she was using would have been rather diluted with blood and other matter already.
Hiking the jug up carefully, he approached her slowly, standing there for just a moment to watch her clean herself up. "Would you like some cleaner water, Neena?" he offered from the side, his dark eyes taking her in. Her clothes would need to be cleaned and that dark smudge on her cheek would need to disappear before long. Dried blood was not always a fun thing to pull out of fabrics, especially the lighter fabrics that the Bedoans wore. "I am going to be setting up the bathing tents for all of those who worked on the birth today, you and the other slaves can take a proper bath," he said lightly, though he didn't really understand the idea that Neena's idea of a proper bath and his would be entirely different. He was thinking about a bath in which one sweat all of the toxins out and slaves scraped the sweat and dead skin off their bodies with knives.
He couldn't imagine submerging himself in water to bathe himself. That just sounded wasteful and Hasani was sure that the ancestors would frown upon such a thing. "You can also give your clothes to another slave, on my orders, and have them clean the blood from them," he said, trying to be extremely nice and admirable in that moment. For some reason, he really wanted to see Neena's features light up at some of the niceties that he was bestowing upon her.
Then again, he had been wanting to see that gleeful look on her features more and more as of late. It was warming, pleasantly so, where sometimes the sands could feel a little too cold. "Have you ever birthed a baby before? Not... yourself, I mean... helped someone else..."
And just like that, he'd gone from kind to seriously awkward and weirded out by the own words in his mouth.
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This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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Hasani's gaze followed Neena the moment she exited the tent. Seeing blood was not at all surprising in the normal sense that Hasani had seen a lot of it over the years. But with each and every birth within the tribe, Hasani still couldn't still the shock within himself about how much blood was involved. It constantly had him wondering if all was right with mother and child, but there would be less celebrating and more sadness in this moment if either had passed on. The leier took this as a good measure of health for both parties and glanced back to the fire for just a moment.
Passing the skin of wine off to the next warrior in the circle, the man placed both of his hands on his knees and pressed himself up to his full height from where he had set a full pitcher of warmed water in the sand in hopes it would stay warm. Neena was the last of the slaves to leave the hawe, and Hasani was sure that the bowl of water she was using would have been rather diluted with blood and other matter already.
Hiking the jug up carefully, he approached her slowly, standing there for just a moment to watch her clean herself up. "Would you like some cleaner water, Neena?" he offered from the side, his dark eyes taking her in. Her clothes would need to be cleaned and that dark smudge on her cheek would need to disappear before long. Dried blood was not always a fun thing to pull out of fabrics, especially the lighter fabrics that the Bedoans wore. "I am going to be setting up the bathing tents for all of those who worked on the birth today, you and the other slaves can take a proper bath," he said lightly, though he didn't really understand the idea that Neena's idea of a proper bath and his would be entirely different. He was thinking about a bath in which one sweat all of the toxins out and slaves scraped the sweat and dead skin off their bodies with knives.
He couldn't imagine submerging himself in water to bathe himself. That just sounded wasteful and Hasani was sure that the ancestors would frown upon such a thing. "You can also give your clothes to another slave, on my orders, and have them clean the blood from them," he said, trying to be extremely nice and admirable in that moment. For some reason, he really wanted to see Neena's features light up at some of the niceties that he was bestowing upon her.
Then again, he had been wanting to see that gleeful look on her features more and more as of late. It was warming, pleasantly so, where sometimes the sands could feel a little too cold. "Have you ever birthed a baby before? Not... yourself, I mean... helped someone else..."
And just like that, he'd gone from kind to seriously awkward and weirded out by the own words in his mouth.
Hasani's gaze followed Neena the moment she exited the tent. Seeing blood was not at all surprising in the normal sense that Hasani had seen a lot of it over the years. But with each and every birth within the tribe, Hasani still couldn't still the shock within himself about how much blood was involved. It constantly had him wondering if all was right with mother and child, but there would be less celebrating and more sadness in this moment if either had passed on. The leier took this as a good measure of health for both parties and glanced back to the fire for just a moment.
Passing the skin of wine off to the next warrior in the circle, the man placed both of his hands on his knees and pressed himself up to his full height from where he had set a full pitcher of warmed water in the sand in hopes it would stay warm. Neena was the last of the slaves to leave the hawe, and Hasani was sure that the bowl of water she was using would have been rather diluted with blood and other matter already.
Hiking the jug up carefully, he approached her slowly, standing there for just a moment to watch her clean herself up. "Would you like some cleaner water, Neena?" he offered from the side, his dark eyes taking her in. Her clothes would need to be cleaned and that dark smudge on her cheek would need to disappear before long. Dried blood was not always a fun thing to pull out of fabrics, especially the lighter fabrics that the Bedoans wore. "I am going to be setting up the bathing tents for all of those who worked on the birth today, you and the other slaves can take a proper bath," he said lightly, though he didn't really understand the idea that Neena's idea of a proper bath and his would be entirely different. He was thinking about a bath in which one sweat all of the toxins out and slaves scraped the sweat and dead skin off their bodies with knives.
He couldn't imagine submerging himself in water to bathe himself. That just sounded wasteful and Hasani was sure that the ancestors would frown upon such a thing. "You can also give your clothes to another slave, on my orders, and have them clean the blood from them," he said, trying to be extremely nice and admirable in that moment. For some reason, he really wanted to see Neena's features light up at some of the niceties that he was bestowing upon her.
Then again, he had been wanting to see that gleeful look on her features more and more as of late. It was warming, pleasantly so, where sometimes the sands could feel a little too cold. "Have you ever birthed a baby before? Not... yourself, I mean... helped someone else..."
And just like that, he'd gone from kind to seriously awkward and weirded out by the own words in his mouth.
Neena scrubbed at her skin, with only the hushed darkness of the night around her and finest of crackles in the nearby fire. There was a low and tense chatter between the men - the new babe's father included - who had remained outside of the hawe, drinking for posterity to hide their nerves over the chances of a safe birth. It was a natural thing to fear. Childbirth was not always a sure thing and mother and baby were always in some form of jeopardy during the process. So many survived but not all did. It was natural to be nervous.
And, for the same reason, it was naturally to be exhausted after aiding in the venture. Even from her position, where she had played clean up and hand-holder or the one to brace one of the mother's legs so that she might be able to push her child into the fresh air for the first time... Whilst she might not have been the mother herself, related to her or the chief physician in charge of the birth, she had been involved enough to now feel the energy leeched from her muscles and bones in a way that made her feel deflated and tired.
Perhaps that was why her reflexes weren't as attuned to the approach of another. Or perhaps her mind was lost in thought as the rag in her hand brushed over her skin and seemed to clean her arms to moderate affect, the water growing darker with each submergence of fabric. She would scrunch the piece up in her hand to draw the water from its weave and set a trickle of noise on the surface of the vessel that was high pitched in the cool hush of things. Not that anyone appeared to notice.
When the figure in question approached, Neena looked up sharply at the first sound of his voice and then felt her shoulders come down in a more relaxed state as she realised who it was that had accosted her in her sleepy state. She smiled as she normally did, her teeth white in the darkness but the grin lacking a little of its normal vibrancy. Its energy and brightness had been stolen from her by a trying few hours.
"Good evening, Your Greatness." She greeted him formally, the friendly tone leaving her words somewhere between a joke and genuine respect. When he offered her more water, her expression became surprised and she glanced down at the dark and murky water she had been cleaning with. It reminded her of the deepest parts of the oceans, where the water looked almost black. As if you could lower your hand into its waves and not see it within an inch.
Removing her hands from the dish and shaking them so that dark spots of moisture hit the sands around her feet, a few flicking upon her toes, Neena offered a half shrug.
"I suppose that might be a good idea." She offered.
Whilst the tribe would always work to reserve any and all fresh water that they could, Neena also knew the value of being clean in the sunshine. The sun was hot. And it burnt into the skin. It streaked the cracked and merged skin to the dirt and dust and anything that remained on your limbs could then irritate and turn dark skin red with discomfort. Discomfort wasn't good on long journeys across the dunes. Which meant that, even when a journey was not on the immediate horizon... the people of Bedoa were a fairly clean race of beings.
Taking the dish from its tripod stand of wood, Neena shifted and dispenses the content upon the sands, away from both her feet and the fire that sat a little in the over direction. It would leave a harsh stain of red come the morning but the sands of the desert were temporal and they would shift and sway to cover the evidence over time.
Setting it back into place so that Hasani might pour in a fresh supply, Neena smiled in thanks when she was able to dip her arms back into a water that was both clearer and warmer than the last. And she was quick to make use of it as she worked at her arms.
When a second suggestion of a full bathe was offered, Neena wasn't confused over the difference in bathing rituals. She had travelled the world enough - including the Bedoan sands - to know that all cultures saw to their hygiene in different ways. The sweat tent would simply mean attending in the nude and scraping at the skin as sweat became the lubricant for the knife and the means of soap. In her experience, neither the Grecian nor the Bedoan way of cleaning was better or worse. Just different.
But, as a slave, Neena wasn't permitted to use the sweat tents. She had washed herself with the small dose of water permitted to her once a week in order to stay clean enough not to stink and she had not had the opportunity to ever use the sweat tent properly and understand just how the process worked. She knew that it made people clean - for she never smelt a dirty Zaire. But she had yet to experience it for herself.
"Okay!" She said with an eagerness that was perhaps a little overt for the situation. "I've not used one of the bath hawes before! Thanks!"
Invigorated by the idea, Neena was even able to laugh at the Leier's awkwardness over his phrasings. She lifted one hand out of the water in order to point to first the left and then the right, addressing one subject and then the other in turn.
"No to the first, yes to the second." She told him. "I've helped with a few birthings but I'm not hugely experienced. You have good physicians in this tribe so all I had to do was help and hand them things." She gave a shrug as if what she had done within the tent to aid the other healers was no big deal.
She didn't go into detail beyond that, for she knew that childbirth was a female thing and men didn't really wish to know the miracle of birth naturally occurred. Instead, her gaze flickered to the fire around which the men sat. There were two empty spaces - one for Hasani and the other for the father who would now be with his wife and child.
"Did you wait all night?"
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Neena scrubbed at her skin, with only the hushed darkness of the night around her and finest of crackles in the nearby fire. There was a low and tense chatter between the men - the new babe's father included - who had remained outside of the hawe, drinking for posterity to hide their nerves over the chances of a safe birth. It was a natural thing to fear. Childbirth was not always a sure thing and mother and baby were always in some form of jeopardy during the process. So many survived but not all did. It was natural to be nervous.
And, for the same reason, it was naturally to be exhausted after aiding in the venture. Even from her position, where she had played clean up and hand-holder or the one to brace one of the mother's legs so that she might be able to push her child into the fresh air for the first time... Whilst she might not have been the mother herself, related to her or the chief physician in charge of the birth, she had been involved enough to now feel the energy leeched from her muscles and bones in a way that made her feel deflated and tired.
Perhaps that was why her reflexes weren't as attuned to the approach of another. Or perhaps her mind was lost in thought as the rag in her hand brushed over her skin and seemed to clean her arms to moderate affect, the water growing darker with each submergence of fabric. She would scrunch the piece up in her hand to draw the water from its weave and set a trickle of noise on the surface of the vessel that was high pitched in the cool hush of things. Not that anyone appeared to notice.
When the figure in question approached, Neena looked up sharply at the first sound of his voice and then felt her shoulders come down in a more relaxed state as she realised who it was that had accosted her in her sleepy state. She smiled as she normally did, her teeth white in the darkness but the grin lacking a little of its normal vibrancy. Its energy and brightness had been stolen from her by a trying few hours.
"Good evening, Your Greatness." She greeted him formally, the friendly tone leaving her words somewhere between a joke and genuine respect. When he offered her more water, her expression became surprised and she glanced down at the dark and murky water she had been cleaning with. It reminded her of the deepest parts of the oceans, where the water looked almost black. As if you could lower your hand into its waves and not see it within an inch.
Removing her hands from the dish and shaking them so that dark spots of moisture hit the sands around her feet, a few flicking upon her toes, Neena offered a half shrug.
"I suppose that might be a good idea." She offered.
Whilst the tribe would always work to reserve any and all fresh water that they could, Neena also knew the value of being clean in the sunshine. The sun was hot. And it burnt into the skin. It streaked the cracked and merged skin to the dirt and dust and anything that remained on your limbs could then irritate and turn dark skin red with discomfort. Discomfort wasn't good on long journeys across the dunes. Which meant that, even when a journey was not on the immediate horizon... the people of Bedoa were a fairly clean race of beings.
Taking the dish from its tripod stand of wood, Neena shifted and dispenses the content upon the sands, away from both her feet and the fire that sat a little in the over direction. It would leave a harsh stain of red come the morning but the sands of the desert were temporal and they would shift and sway to cover the evidence over time.
Setting it back into place so that Hasani might pour in a fresh supply, Neena smiled in thanks when she was able to dip her arms back into a water that was both clearer and warmer than the last. And she was quick to make use of it as she worked at her arms.
When a second suggestion of a full bathe was offered, Neena wasn't confused over the difference in bathing rituals. She had travelled the world enough - including the Bedoan sands - to know that all cultures saw to their hygiene in different ways. The sweat tent would simply mean attending in the nude and scraping at the skin as sweat became the lubricant for the knife and the means of soap. In her experience, neither the Grecian nor the Bedoan way of cleaning was better or worse. Just different.
But, as a slave, Neena wasn't permitted to use the sweat tents. She had washed herself with the small dose of water permitted to her once a week in order to stay clean enough not to stink and she had not had the opportunity to ever use the sweat tent properly and understand just how the process worked. She knew that it made people clean - for she never smelt a dirty Zaire. But she had yet to experience it for herself.
"Okay!" She said with an eagerness that was perhaps a little overt for the situation. "I've not used one of the bath hawes before! Thanks!"
Invigorated by the idea, Neena was even able to laugh at the Leier's awkwardness over his phrasings. She lifted one hand out of the water in order to point to first the left and then the right, addressing one subject and then the other in turn.
"No to the first, yes to the second." She told him. "I've helped with a few birthings but I'm not hugely experienced. You have good physicians in this tribe so all I had to do was help and hand them things." She gave a shrug as if what she had done within the tent to aid the other healers was no big deal.
She didn't go into detail beyond that, for she knew that childbirth was a female thing and men didn't really wish to know the miracle of birth naturally occurred. Instead, her gaze flickered to the fire around which the men sat. There were two empty spaces - one for Hasani and the other for the father who would now be with his wife and child.
"Did you wait all night?"
Neena scrubbed at her skin, with only the hushed darkness of the night around her and finest of crackles in the nearby fire. There was a low and tense chatter between the men - the new babe's father included - who had remained outside of the hawe, drinking for posterity to hide their nerves over the chances of a safe birth. It was a natural thing to fear. Childbirth was not always a sure thing and mother and baby were always in some form of jeopardy during the process. So many survived but not all did. It was natural to be nervous.
And, for the same reason, it was naturally to be exhausted after aiding in the venture. Even from her position, where she had played clean up and hand-holder or the one to brace one of the mother's legs so that she might be able to push her child into the fresh air for the first time... Whilst she might not have been the mother herself, related to her or the chief physician in charge of the birth, she had been involved enough to now feel the energy leeched from her muscles and bones in a way that made her feel deflated and tired.
Perhaps that was why her reflexes weren't as attuned to the approach of another. Or perhaps her mind was lost in thought as the rag in her hand brushed over her skin and seemed to clean her arms to moderate affect, the water growing darker with each submergence of fabric. She would scrunch the piece up in her hand to draw the water from its weave and set a trickle of noise on the surface of the vessel that was high pitched in the cool hush of things. Not that anyone appeared to notice.
When the figure in question approached, Neena looked up sharply at the first sound of his voice and then felt her shoulders come down in a more relaxed state as she realised who it was that had accosted her in her sleepy state. She smiled as she normally did, her teeth white in the darkness but the grin lacking a little of its normal vibrancy. Its energy and brightness had been stolen from her by a trying few hours.
"Good evening, Your Greatness." She greeted him formally, the friendly tone leaving her words somewhere between a joke and genuine respect. When he offered her more water, her expression became surprised and she glanced down at the dark and murky water she had been cleaning with. It reminded her of the deepest parts of the oceans, where the water looked almost black. As if you could lower your hand into its waves and not see it within an inch.
Removing her hands from the dish and shaking them so that dark spots of moisture hit the sands around her feet, a few flicking upon her toes, Neena offered a half shrug.
"I suppose that might be a good idea." She offered.
Whilst the tribe would always work to reserve any and all fresh water that they could, Neena also knew the value of being clean in the sunshine. The sun was hot. And it burnt into the skin. It streaked the cracked and merged skin to the dirt and dust and anything that remained on your limbs could then irritate and turn dark skin red with discomfort. Discomfort wasn't good on long journeys across the dunes. Which meant that, even when a journey was not on the immediate horizon... the people of Bedoa were a fairly clean race of beings.
Taking the dish from its tripod stand of wood, Neena shifted and dispenses the content upon the sands, away from both her feet and the fire that sat a little in the over direction. It would leave a harsh stain of red come the morning but the sands of the desert were temporal and they would shift and sway to cover the evidence over time.
Setting it back into place so that Hasani might pour in a fresh supply, Neena smiled in thanks when she was able to dip her arms back into a water that was both clearer and warmer than the last. And she was quick to make use of it as she worked at her arms.
When a second suggestion of a full bathe was offered, Neena wasn't confused over the difference in bathing rituals. She had travelled the world enough - including the Bedoan sands - to know that all cultures saw to their hygiene in different ways. The sweat tent would simply mean attending in the nude and scraping at the skin as sweat became the lubricant for the knife and the means of soap. In her experience, neither the Grecian nor the Bedoan way of cleaning was better or worse. Just different.
But, as a slave, Neena wasn't permitted to use the sweat tents. She had washed herself with the small dose of water permitted to her once a week in order to stay clean enough not to stink and she had not had the opportunity to ever use the sweat tent properly and understand just how the process worked. She knew that it made people clean - for she never smelt a dirty Zaire. But she had yet to experience it for herself.
"Okay!" She said with an eagerness that was perhaps a little overt for the situation. "I've not used one of the bath hawes before! Thanks!"
Invigorated by the idea, Neena was even able to laugh at the Leier's awkwardness over his phrasings. She lifted one hand out of the water in order to point to first the left and then the right, addressing one subject and then the other in turn.
"No to the first, yes to the second." She told him. "I've helped with a few birthings but I'm not hugely experienced. You have good physicians in this tribe so all I had to do was help and hand them things." She gave a shrug as if what she had done within the tent to aid the other healers was no big deal.
She didn't go into detail beyond that, for she knew that childbirth was a female thing and men didn't really wish to know the miracle of birth naturally occurred. Instead, her gaze flickered to the fire around which the men sat. There were two empty spaces - one for Hasani and the other for the father who would now be with his wife and child.
"Did you wait all night?"
Hasani could tell the young woman was not as chipper as she usually was. It was late and she had been working long hours in the birthing tents. Admittedly, this was a process that Hasani was incredibly familiar with. For he remained awake with his warriors for each and every birth into the Zaire tribe. Such was his nature to wish to welcome the new lives into the tribe with the same joy as the parents themselves. For all of his tribe functioned like his children and it was only natural to give each new babe their proper welcome.
A staunch, quiet warrior, it was often hard to imagine a leier that was so kind and caring with his people. Many of the other leier's had something to prove to their tribes. They worked with their people with the idea that they were well and truly above those that they lead simply because of their bloodline and their prowess. Hasani felt none of these things. He had no bloodline to prove, just his own heart and his own mind, and just like Hunai, he guided the Zaire tribe with the same gentle, understanding hand that they had endured for a few generations.
Looking back, Hasani was more than sure that Hunai was grooming Hasani himself for the position. The previous leier had spent so much time with Hasani at his back and it was through careful observation and the tempering of his own nerves that Hasani had moulded himself into a man not unlike Hunai. Not the same, but not entirely different, either. A former bodyguard of the former leier, the young man kept the balance of mercy and justice within his tribe.
It was what he was known for, even having only been a leier for so little a time. There was no reason punishing a man who knew no reason. There was no reason in punishing someone who had already seen the error in their ways and begged both leier and ancestors for forgiveness. No one ever stopped learning, not even Hasani. It was vital that the leaders of the tribes kept themselves open to learning and growing, and that was how Hasani strived to be through his entire reign.
The bathing tent was a rather large reward for the slaves of the tribe, but one that Hasani liked to bestow every so often. They were slaves, but to him, they were no less human than the Zaire around them. More than once he had seen the flitting of emotions over their features. They felt things just like Hasani did, and it had never felt right to treat people like cattle. Some were slaves as punishment, others because they were born such. Though they did not have the names of the Zaire, they were not less because of it. That included Neena and her wild and carefree attitudes. She had an affect with the people that left her open and approachable to everyone in the tribe, and Hasani wanted to see more of that.
The little kindnesses were just a start in attempting to see the flourishing of young Neena.
Hasani nodded at the thanks given to him about the baths and he waited for the girl to be finished washing her arms before he offered her a cloth to dry her skin before the desert sands and dusts stuck back to her flesh. The question of whether he had waited all night had him, too, looking toward the fire where his seat was now empty. Smiling almost serenely, Hasani nodded carefully.
"I wait for every birth. Sometimes hours, others days. Every babe deserves a proper welcome into the tribe, and that means that I remain awake until they come screaming into the sands," Hasani explained carefully, now crossing his large arms across his chest in deep thought. "Come and find me once you have finished your bath. There will be another slave to help you," Hasani said lightly, "The tents should be ready."
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This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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Hasani could tell the young woman was not as chipper as she usually was. It was late and she had been working long hours in the birthing tents. Admittedly, this was a process that Hasani was incredibly familiar with. For he remained awake with his warriors for each and every birth into the Zaire tribe. Such was his nature to wish to welcome the new lives into the tribe with the same joy as the parents themselves. For all of his tribe functioned like his children and it was only natural to give each new babe their proper welcome.
A staunch, quiet warrior, it was often hard to imagine a leier that was so kind and caring with his people. Many of the other leier's had something to prove to their tribes. They worked with their people with the idea that they were well and truly above those that they lead simply because of their bloodline and their prowess. Hasani felt none of these things. He had no bloodline to prove, just his own heart and his own mind, and just like Hunai, he guided the Zaire tribe with the same gentle, understanding hand that they had endured for a few generations.
Looking back, Hasani was more than sure that Hunai was grooming Hasani himself for the position. The previous leier had spent so much time with Hasani at his back and it was through careful observation and the tempering of his own nerves that Hasani had moulded himself into a man not unlike Hunai. Not the same, but not entirely different, either. A former bodyguard of the former leier, the young man kept the balance of mercy and justice within his tribe.
It was what he was known for, even having only been a leier for so little a time. There was no reason punishing a man who knew no reason. There was no reason in punishing someone who had already seen the error in their ways and begged both leier and ancestors for forgiveness. No one ever stopped learning, not even Hasani. It was vital that the leaders of the tribes kept themselves open to learning and growing, and that was how Hasani strived to be through his entire reign.
The bathing tent was a rather large reward for the slaves of the tribe, but one that Hasani liked to bestow every so often. They were slaves, but to him, they were no less human than the Zaire around them. More than once he had seen the flitting of emotions over their features. They felt things just like Hasani did, and it had never felt right to treat people like cattle. Some were slaves as punishment, others because they were born such. Though they did not have the names of the Zaire, they were not less because of it. That included Neena and her wild and carefree attitudes. She had an affect with the people that left her open and approachable to everyone in the tribe, and Hasani wanted to see more of that.
The little kindnesses were just a start in attempting to see the flourishing of young Neena.
Hasani nodded at the thanks given to him about the baths and he waited for the girl to be finished washing her arms before he offered her a cloth to dry her skin before the desert sands and dusts stuck back to her flesh. The question of whether he had waited all night had him, too, looking toward the fire where his seat was now empty. Smiling almost serenely, Hasani nodded carefully.
"I wait for every birth. Sometimes hours, others days. Every babe deserves a proper welcome into the tribe, and that means that I remain awake until they come screaming into the sands," Hasani explained carefully, now crossing his large arms across his chest in deep thought. "Come and find me once you have finished your bath. There will be another slave to help you," Hasani said lightly, "The tents should be ready."
Hasani could tell the young woman was not as chipper as she usually was. It was late and she had been working long hours in the birthing tents. Admittedly, this was a process that Hasani was incredibly familiar with. For he remained awake with his warriors for each and every birth into the Zaire tribe. Such was his nature to wish to welcome the new lives into the tribe with the same joy as the parents themselves. For all of his tribe functioned like his children and it was only natural to give each new babe their proper welcome.
A staunch, quiet warrior, it was often hard to imagine a leier that was so kind and caring with his people. Many of the other leier's had something to prove to their tribes. They worked with their people with the idea that they were well and truly above those that they lead simply because of their bloodline and their prowess. Hasani felt none of these things. He had no bloodline to prove, just his own heart and his own mind, and just like Hunai, he guided the Zaire tribe with the same gentle, understanding hand that they had endured for a few generations.
Looking back, Hasani was more than sure that Hunai was grooming Hasani himself for the position. The previous leier had spent so much time with Hasani at his back and it was through careful observation and the tempering of his own nerves that Hasani had moulded himself into a man not unlike Hunai. Not the same, but not entirely different, either. A former bodyguard of the former leier, the young man kept the balance of mercy and justice within his tribe.
It was what he was known for, even having only been a leier for so little a time. There was no reason punishing a man who knew no reason. There was no reason in punishing someone who had already seen the error in their ways and begged both leier and ancestors for forgiveness. No one ever stopped learning, not even Hasani. It was vital that the leaders of the tribes kept themselves open to learning and growing, and that was how Hasani strived to be through his entire reign.
The bathing tent was a rather large reward for the slaves of the tribe, but one that Hasani liked to bestow every so often. They were slaves, but to him, they were no less human than the Zaire around them. More than once he had seen the flitting of emotions over their features. They felt things just like Hasani did, and it had never felt right to treat people like cattle. Some were slaves as punishment, others because they were born such. Though they did not have the names of the Zaire, they were not less because of it. That included Neena and her wild and carefree attitudes. She had an affect with the people that left her open and approachable to everyone in the tribe, and Hasani wanted to see more of that.
The little kindnesses were just a start in attempting to see the flourishing of young Neena.
Hasani nodded at the thanks given to him about the baths and he waited for the girl to be finished washing her arms before he offered her a cloth to dry her skin before the desert sands and dusts stuck back to her flesh. The question of whether he had waited all night had him, too, looking toward the fire where his seat was now empty. Smiling almost serenely, Hasani nodded carefully.
"I wait for every birth. Sometimes hours, others days. Every babe deserves a proper welcome into the tribe, and that means that I remain awake until they come screaming into the sands," Hasani explained carefully, now crossing his large arms across his chest in deep thought. "Come and find me once you have finished your bath. There will be another slave to help you," Hasani said lightly, "The tents should be ready."
Neena smiled brightly when Hasani commented on having been there all night and how he believed that every kid needed a happy and loving welcome to the world.
"That's nice of you!" She told him, not at her normal level of excitement but close enough considering the lateness of the night and the long hours she had spent in the birthing tent, labouring over the new mother.
She was shushed from saying anything more when the Leier insisted that she use the bathing tent. His comment about there being someone there to help her was indicative of his awareness of her status as a slave. He didn't bat an eyelash when she admitted to never having used one before and knew her ignorance to be normal for a woman of her lowered position in life.
With a simple dismissal, telling her to find him once more after she had cleaned up properly, Neena nodded her head and accepted the order of her Leier before heading in the direction of the sweat tents. Just because Neena had never used them before didn't mean that she wasn't aware of where in the camp they were set up. Often, she was expected to wash the cloth that was used within them and help to set up the tribe's camp whenever they stopped in a new place. She knew exactly where the bathing tents were stationed; a little away from the sleeping hawes and the public open spaces.
Headed in that direction with an eager step, Neena rolled some of the tension from her shoulders and breathed in deep the cool air of the night. It was a few hours before morning now and at the very darkest point of the heavens. Everything had fallen to almost pitch black, ready to turn back the other way when the sun became close enough to the horizon to start seeping its rays into the sky.
Reaching the sweat tents, Neena was greeted by another slave Saraya and the two of them entered together.
Immediately Neena was hit in the face by the heat. The fire in the centre of the tent churned out flames of hot stickiness, whilst the oils used to coat the cloth when the tents were made let no warmth escape through the weaves of fabric. It was dense, hot and almost suffocating inside the tent and Neena wasn't sure she liked it as she was encouraged to sit down. Her lungs felt funny in her chest and her tunic was immediately stuck to her skin with perspiration. Quick hands from one of the older women encouraged her to take the dress off and Neena held little modesty in doing so. Everyone else in the tent wore only their skin and had no shame in sitting cross legged upon on the rugs and cushions. They sat and chatted between each other over their children or the state of life in the tribe and Neena was content to sit and listen.
She handed her tunic over to a slave that took it outside - likely to clean it - and Neena was left to sit awkwardly and naked to one side of the tent.
She listened and learned from the wiser women of the tribe, watching as they cleaned themselves with curved blades that appeared like small scythes. They pressed the edge of the knives to their skin and slid the metal along. The angle was so that no blood was drawn and no skin broken. The dark of their arms or legs just turned a little pale with the pressure and clusters of dead skin and sweat was pushed onto the edge of the blade. A small and shallow dish of water, placed beside each bather, was provided with a cloth so that the blade could be cleaned.
Luckily, Neena knew how to handle knives. With her skills as a manipulator of the blade, she only nicked herself once in the process, on her knee, and the rest of her bathe was easy and effective. Each sweep of the blade left her skin feeling smooth and her body seeming cooler. As her face continued to heat and she felt her hair turn frizzy with the temperature, she was eager for the cooling sensation on the rest of her body and was lost in the process of bathing until everyone else had long since left the tent.
By the time she was alone, she was done and Neena was left to the confusion of what to do next.
Crawling over to the opening of the tent, she poked her head outside in the hopes of seeing her tunic on the sands beyond. It was not there.
Assuming that it had been taken away to be cleaned, Neena glanced about for some replacement clothes. But there was also none of those.
Frowning, Neena wasn't sure where to go from here.
Sitting naked amongst other women of the tribe during a practice that was an acceptable hygienic tradition was one thing. Walking around butt naked amongst the tribe because your tent was on the other side of the camp and you had no clothes was entirely different.
Ducking back inside, Neena glanced about for something she might be able to use to keep her dignity intact. Most of the sheets were anchored to the sands or walls and the cushions would only offer her coverage on one side of her body. Luckily, she found a piece of the rugged flooring that was an overlayer and easy to remove from its brothers. It was small and would not wrap all around her down one side but it would if turned sideways. So, Neena rose to her feet, wrapped the kaftan around her body and fastened it above the breasts. It rode ridiculously high on her thighs but, provided she didn't lift her knees too high as she walked, it would keep her dignity until she could reach her own little hawe. Where she hoped her tunic would be waiting for her.
If not, she would simply sleep the night and then ask one of her fellow slaves when they were awake in the morning to hunt down her clothes for her.
A valid plan all round.
The only element that Neena didn't realise until she was outside and trying to walk through the dark, between tents and hawes, was that the oil that the bathing tent was covered in, made the sheet she held around her incredibly slippery. Constantly having to hold it in place, Neena attempted, as best she could, not to be seen as she headed back for the privacy of her hawe.
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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Neena smiled brightly when Hasani commented on having been there all night and how he believed that every kid needed a happy and loving welcome to the world.
"That's nice of you!" She told him, not at her normal level of excitement but close enough considering the lateness of the night and the long hours she had spent in the birthing tent, labouring over the new mother.
She was shushed from saying anything more when the Leier insisted that she use the bathing tent. His comment about there being someone there to help her was indicative of his awareness of her status as a slave. He didn't bat an eyelash when she admitted to never having used one before and knew her ignorance to be normal for a woman of her lowered position in life.
With a simple dismissal, telling her to find him once more after she had cleaned up properly, Neena nodded her head and accepted the order of her Leier before heading in the direction of the sweat tents. Just because Neena had never used them before didn't mean that she wasn't aware of where in the camp they were set up. Often, she was expected to wash the cloth that was used within them and help to set up the tribe's camp whenever they stopped in a new place. She knew exactly where the bathing tents were stationed; a little away from the sleeping hawes and the public open spaces.
Headed in that direction with an eager step, Neena rolled some of the tension from her shoulders and breathed in deep the cool air of the night. It was a few hours before morning now and at the very darkest point of the heavens. Everything had fallen to almost pitch black, ready to turn back the other way when the sun became close enough to the horizon to start seeping its rays into the sky.
Reaching the sweat tents, Neena was greeted by another slave Saraya and the two of them entered together.
Immediately Neena was hit in the face by the heat. The fire in the centre of the tent churned out flames of hot stickiness, whilst the oils used to coat the cloth when the tents were made let no warmth escape through the weaves of fabric. It was dense, hot and almost suffocating inside the tent and Neena wasn't sure she liked it as she was encouraged to sit down. Her lungs felt funny in her chest and her tunic was immediately stuck to her skin with perspiration. Quick hands from one of the older women encouraged her to take the dress off and Neena held little modesty in doing so. Everyone else in the tent wore only their skin and had no shame in sitting cross legged upon on the rugs and cushions. They sat and chatted between each other over their children or the state of life in the tribe and Neena was content to sit and listen.
She handed her tunic over to a slave that took it outside - likely to clean it - and Neena was left to sit awkwardly and naked to one side of the tent.
She listened and learned from the wiser women of the tribe, watching as they cleaned themselves with curved blades that appeared like small scythes. They pressed the edge of the knives to their skin and slid the metal along. The angle was so that no blood was drawn and no skin broken. The dark of their arms or legs just turned a little pale with the pressure and clusters of dead skin and sweat was pushed onto the edge of the blade. A small and shallow dish of water, placed beside each bather, was provided with a cloth so that the blade could be cleaned.
Luckily, Neena knew how to handle knives. With her skills as a manipulator of the blade, she only nicked herself once in the process, on her knee, and the rest of her bathe was easy and effective. Each sweep of the blade left her skin feeling smooth and her body seeming cooler. As her face continued to heat and she felt her hair turn frizzy with the temperature, she was eager for the cooling sensation on the rest of her body and was lost in the process of bathing until everyone else had long since left the tent.
By the time she was alone, she was done and Neena was left to the confusion of what to do next.
Crawling over to the opening of the tent, she poked her head outside in the hopes of seeing her tunic on the sands beyond. It was not there.
Assuming that it had been taken away to be cleaned, Neena glanced about for some replacement clothes. But there was also none of those.
Frowning, Neena wasn't sure where to go from here.
Sitting naked amongst other women of the tribe during a practice that was an acceptable hygienic tradition was one thing. Walking around butt naked amongst the tribe because your tent was on the other side of the camp and you had no clothes was entirely different.
Ducking back inside, Neena glanced about for something she might be able to use to keep her dignity intact. Most of the sheets were anchored to the sands or walls and the cushions would only offer her coverage on one side of her body. Luckily, she found a piece of the rugged flooring that was an overlayer and easy to remove from its brothers. It was small and would not wrap all around her down one side but it would if turned sideways. So, Neena rose to her feet, wrapped the kaftan around her body and fastened it above the breasts. It rode ridiculously high on her thighs but, provided she didn't lift her knees too high as she walked, it would keep her dignity until she could reach her own little hawe. Where she hoped her tunic would be waiting for her.
If not, she would simply sleep the night and then ask one of her fellow slaves when they were awake in the morning to hunt down her clothes for her.
A valid plan all round.
The only element that Neena didn't realise until she was outside and trying to walk through the dark, between tents and hawes, was that the oil that the bathing tent was covered in, made the sheet she held around her incredibly slippery. Constantly having to hold it in place, Neena attempted, as best she could, not to be seen as she headed back for the privacy of her hawe.
Neena smiled brightly when Hasani commented on having been there all night and how he believed that every kid needed a happy and loving welcome to the world.
"That's nice of you!" She told him, not at her normal level of excitement but close enough considering the lateness of the night and the long hours she had spent in the birthing tent, labouring over the new mother.
She was shushed from saying anything more when the Leier insisted that she use the bathing tent. His comment about there being someone there to help her was indicative of his awareness of her status as a slave. He didn't bat an eyelash when she admitted to never having used one before and knew her ignorance to be normal for a woman of her lowered position in life.
With a simple dismissal, telling her to find him once more after she had cleaned up properly, Neena nodded her head and accepted the order of her Leier before heading in the direction of the sweat tents. Just because Neena had never used them before didn't mean that she wasn't aware of where in the camp they were set up. Often, she was expected to wash the cloth that was used within them and help to set up the tribe's camp whenever they stopped in a new place. She knew exactly where the bathing tents were stationed; a little away from the sleeping hawes and the public open spaces.
Headed in that direction with an eager step, Neena rolled some of the tension from her shoulders and breathed in deep the cool air of the night. It was a few hours before morning now and at the very darkest point of the heavens. Everything had fallen to almost pitch black, ready to turn back the other way when the sun became close enough to the horizon to start seeping its rays into the sky.
Reaching the sweat tents, Neena was greeted by another slave Saraya and the two of them entered together.
Immediately Neena was hit in the face by the heat. The fire in the centre of the tent churned out flames of hot stickiness, whilst the oils used to coat the cloth when the tents were made let no warmth escape through the weaves of fabric. It was dense, hot and almost suffocating inside the tent and Neena wasn't sure she liked it as she was encouraged to sit down. Her lungs felt funny in her chest and her tunic was immediately stuck to her skin with perspiration. Quick hands from one of the older women encouraged her to take the dress off and Neena held little modesty in doing so. Everyone else in the tent wore only their skin and had no shame in sitting cross legged upon on the rugs and cushions. They sat and chatted between each other over their children or the state of life in the tribe and Neena was content to sit and listen.
She handed her tunic over to a slave that took it outside - likely to clean it - and Neena was left to sit awkwardly and naked to one side of the tent.
She listened and learned from the wiser women of the tribe, watching as they cleaned themselves with curved blades that appeared like small scythes. They pressed the edge of the knives to their skin and slid the metal along. The angle was so that no blood was drawn and no skin broken. The dark of their arms or legs just turned a little pale with the pressure and clusters of dead skin and sweat was pushed onto the edge of the blade. A small and shallow dish of water, placed beside each bather, was provided with a cloth so that the blade could be cleaned.
Luckily, Neena knew how to handle knives. With her skills as a manipulator of the blade, she only nicked herself once in the process, on her knee, and the rest of her bathe was easy and effective. Each sweep of the blade left her skin feeling smooth and her body seeming cooler. As her face continued to heat and she felt her hair turn frizzy with the temperature, she was eager for the cooling sensation on the rest of her body and was lost in the process of bathing until everyone else had long since left the tent.
By the time she was alone, she was done and Neena was left to the confusion of what to do next.
Crawling over to the opening of the tent, she poked her head outside in the hopes of seeing her tunic on the sands beyond. It was not there.
Assuming that it had been taken away to be cleaned, Neena glanced about for some replacement clothes. But there was also none of those.
Frowning, Neena wasn't sure where to go from here.
Sitting naked amongst other women of the tribe during a practice that was an acceptable hygienic tradition was one thing. Walking around butt naked amongst the tribe because your tent was on the other side of the camp and you had no clothes was entirely different.
Ducking back inside, Neena glanced about for something she might be able to use to keep her dignity intact. Most of the sheets were anchored to the sands or walls and the cushions would only offer her coverage on one side of her body. Luckily, she found a piece of the rugged flooring that was an overlayer and easy to remove from its brothers. It was small and would not wrap all around her down one side but it would if turned sideways. So, Neena rose to her feet, wrapped the kaftan around her body and fastened it above the breasts. It rode ridiculously high on her thighs but, provided she didn't lift her knees too high as she walked, it would keep her dignity until she could reach her own little hawe. Where she hoped her tunic would be waiting for her.
If not, she would simply sleep the night and then ask one of her fellow slaves when they were awake in the morning to hunt down her clothes for her.
A valid plan all round.
The only element that Neena didn't realise until she was outside and trying to walk through the dark, between tents and hawes, was that the oil that the bathing tent was covered in, made the sheet she held around her incredibly slippery. Constantly having to hold it in place, Neena attempted, as best she could, not to be seen as she headed back for the privacy of her hawe.
The leier had not thought anything of it when he instructed that one of the slaves take Neena's clothing to have it cleaned. He hadn't thought anything of it not being there by the time she exited the baths, having gone about some of his rounds and wanderings about the camp in his own time. His brows were knit together as he glanced toward the stars, silently trying to chart the path that they would take once theyc ontinued on from this location to their next. It would not be for a few days yet, especially with the birth of a new child, but it would be soon. Their supplies would not allow them to linger too long in one place. Eventually, they would need to be replenished.
What Hasani had also not thought about was how bold the young slave girl was. Because as he made his round around one of the tents with a torch in hand, the leier came face to face with a barely dressed Neena. Dark eyes growing wider in the torchlight, the man looked her up and down once, the first words out of his mouth being, "What are you wearing, Neena?" his tone confounded and utterly confused about what she was doing practically naked out on the sands.
Then his hand was coming up to cover his eyes, breathing deeply through his nose. "Why are you out here like this? Where are your clothes? Were they not returned to you before you finished your bath?" the leier asked, his voice turning a little tight as he thought of what he might be able to do to help her keep some more of her modesty the rest of the way to her hawe. The only thing the leier could think of was giving her the light shirt that he wore. Which he tried to do, shuffling his hold of the torch so that he could pull it over his head and offer it to the slave girl.
"Put this on before someone sees you and then make doubletime toward your hawe," he said as his only order, shaking his head sharply. "I will go and find where your clothes were put so that maybe this doesn't happen again." All in all, the leier felt wildly embarrassed, if only because it was improper for even a slave girl to be so under dressed. It was both provocative and wrong to be so unclothed, specifically because Neena was not married, nor had she born children of her own so that she might be afforded the loss of modesty.
Hasani did not wait for Neena to speak next, turning away from the entire situation and moving in the direction of the washing tents so that he could put both distance between them and figure out what had happened with her clothing without the distraction of her standing there in the darkness. "Go!" Hasani called back over his shoulder as he did so.
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The leier had not thought anything of it when he instructed that one of the slaves take Neena's clothing to have it cleaned. He hadn't thought anything of it not being there by the time she exited the baths, having gone about some of his rounds and wanderings about the camp in his own time. His brows were knit together as he glanced toward the stars, silently trying to chart the path that they would take once theyc ontinued on from this location to their next. It would not be for a few days yet, especially with the birth of a new child, but it would be soon. Their supplies would not allow them to linger too long in one place. Eventually, they would need to be replenished.
What Hasani had also not thought about was how bold the young slave girl was. Because as he made his round around one of the tents with a torch in hand, the leier came face to face with a barely dressed Neena. Dark eyes growing wider in the torchlight, the man looked her up and down once, the first words out of his mouth being, "What are you wearing, Neena?" his tone confounded and utterly confused about what she was doing practically naked out on the sands.
Then his hand was coming up to cover his eyes, breathing deeply through his nose. "Why are you out here like this? Where are your clothes? Were they not returned to you before you finished your bath?" the leier asked, his voice turning a little tight as he thought of what he might be able to do to help her keep some more of her modesty the rest of the way to her hawe. The only thing the leier could think of was giving her the light shirt that he wore. Which he tried to do, shuffling his hold of the torch so that he could pull it over his head and offer it to the slave girl.
"Put this on before someone sees you and then make doubletime toward your hawe," he said as his only order, shaking his head sharply. "I will go and find where your clothes were put so that maybe this doesn't happen again." All in all, the leier felt wildly embarrassed, if only because it was improper for even a slave girl to be so under dressed. It was both provocative and wrong to be so unclothed, specifically because Neena was not married, nor had she born children of her own so that she might be afforded the loss of modesty.
Hasani did not wait for Neena to speak next, turning away from the entire situation and moving in the direction of the washing tents so that he could put both distance between them and figure out what had happened with her clothing without the distraction of her standing there in the darkness. "Go!" Hasani called back over his shoulder as he did so.
The leier had not thought anything of it when he instructed that one of the slaves take Neena's clothing to have it cleaned. He hadn't thought anything of it not being there by the time she exited the baths, having gone about some of his rounds and wanderings about the camp in his own time. His brows were knit together as he glanced toward the stars, silently trying to chart the path that they would take once theyc ontinued on from this location to their next. It would not be for a few days yet, especially with the birth of a new child, but it would be soon. Their supplies would not allow them to linger too long in one place. Eventually, they would need to be replenished.
What Hasani had also not thought about was how bold the young slave girl was. Because as he made his round around one of the tents with a torch in hand, the leier came face to face with a barely dressed Neena. Dark eyes growing wider in the torchlight, the man looked her up and down once, the first words out of his mouth being, "What are you wearing, Neena?" his tone confounded and utterly confused about what she was doing practically naked out on the sands.
Then his hand was coming up to cover his eyes, breathing deeply through his nose. "Why are you out here like this? Where are your clothes? Were they not returned to you before you finished your bath?" the leier asked, his voice turning a little tight as he thought of what he might be able to do to help her keep some more of her modesty the rest of the way to her hawe. The only thing the leier could think of was giving her the light shirt that he wore. Which he tried to do, shuffling his hold of the torch so that he could pull it over his head and offer it to the slave girl.
"Put this on before someone sees you and then make doubletime toward your hawe," he said as his only order, shaking his head sharply. "I will go and find where your clothes were put so that maybe this doesn't happen again." All in all, the leier felt wildly embarrassed, if only because it was improper for even a slave girl to be so under dressed. It was both provocative and wrong to be so unclothed, specifically because Neena was not married, nor had she born children of her own so that she might be afforded the loss of modesty.
Hasani did not wait for Neena to speak next, turning away from the entire situation and moving in the direction of the washing tents so that he could put both distance between them and figure out what had happened with her clothing without the distraction of her standing there in the darkness. "Go!" Hasani called back over his shoulder as he did so.