To Make A Slave (For Aymer)

Dawne had said her piece and made her point. The girl had resisted on principle and had shown that she was not going to be easily broken like other slaves. Thus, the girl was quite content to keep her mouth shut after Mikitah's tone and words made it clear that he didn't want to hear any more attitude from her. What did it matter to her? Continuing to bark about it was just going to get her hurt and there was nothing else that needed to be said. At least, that's what she wanted herself to believe. It was certainly true enough that she didn't need to say anything else and that her pride had been stood up for, but going deeper, there was another reason that she didn't want to admit to herself. Despite the girl holding her head up high, she felt fear at the threat that she'd get dumped back with a slaver when Mikitah returned. If that happened, she was sure to end up in a whorehouse, as had already been threatened to her several times now for her own stubbornness and attitude. The last place that Dawne wanted to end up was in such a place, and so she kept her mouth shut, fooling herself into thinking that half the reason she was being quiet was the whole reason that she was being quiet so that she did not have to address the fear that she felt.

It wasn't long before Dawne was regretting her decision to take an attitude either. At first, she crawled with her head held high and her tail curled up in the air, but as her hands and knees struggled to keep pace with Mikitah's walk, the heat began to get worse until it felt like they were burning from the sand underneath her. Instead of the canine that she was, Dawne was soon hissing like a cat as she crawled, having to shake her hands and knees whenever they weren't making contact with the ground. "Yes, okay!" She finally said to the man, eager to just get up, even if it meant helping the man pack.

[Aymer]

As he watches his new property walk, he could already tell she wasn't quite as tough as she thought she was. The sand was obviously causing her discomfort, as it should have been. Half dragging her the final little ways, he stopped. In front of him was a wagon of enormous size, near twice as wide and long as a similar one might be in other places. The wheels were wide for it's size, and stood near as tall as Mikitah did. Eight large mules stood hitched to the front. The wagon itself was wide and flat, with a canvas covering held over it on rods to create a sort of roof.

Pulling on the collar, he stood her up. Her harem outfit was not covered in the dust, not that it mattered to him. "Alright, our supplies are going to be delivered out here soon. I hand them up, you put them in the back of the wagon. All told, the whole thing'll be about a third full when we have our load. Don't fuck it up." He gestured to the front of the wagon, which had a small step to help her get up.

Dawne was a fish out of water in this place. She hated the sand, the dust, and the heat. It was all so much unlike the beautiful prairie steppe from which she hailed to the north and even more unlike the beautiful coast she had moved to when her family had been given a lordship over a port province thanks to her father's clever political machinations. No, this sand, which she'd been dragged many, many miles to, was nothing like her home and Dawne glared at the ground for it, for all of the heat that burned at her, rather than the cool sea-breeze that she preferred or getting to ride her horse along the wide-open plains. She continued to glare at the ground, even as she was being dragged ever and ever closer to the wagon and even needing to be tugged on a few times as she just wasn't able to keep up with Mikitah.

Relief came when she was brought back up to her feet and Dawne immediately started to wipe her hands free from the dust and sand that were on them, as well as to try and disperse the heat. Now that she was on her feet, her sandals helped keep her feet rather cool. "Yes, sir." Dawne said with a look towards Mikitah, her tone a little forced, before climbing up the small step to get into the wagon. Then, a few moments later, slaves came out carrying some supplies. Food and waterskins, mostly, which they set on the ground in front of Mikitah.

[Aymer]

He began the slow process of hauling the supplies from the pile where they had been to delicately deposited up onto the lowest lip of the wagon. The crates were heavy; the immense water skins immeasurably so. "Stack the crates of food two high. Set the waterskins in a pile in the corner. Make sure the ends are pointed up so that they won't leak." He didn't need to provide any more encouragement; if she wasn't afraid enough of more direct punishment, surely she would find the prospect of thirsting to death in the desert even less appealing. Still, he wasn't sure he'd put it past her to kill them both out of spite. Well, if she tried anything, he'd make sure she regret the few days they had left.

Soon, the supplies began to pile up on the edge of the wagon. "Hurry it up, girl, or we'll be here all night. And let me tel you what, it gets cold out here at night." Almost counter intuitively, one of the easiest ways to die in the desert was to freeze to death. The nights were as cold as the day was warm, and it would do them well to be shut up in the wagon when the sun finished setting.

"Yes, sir." Dawne said, obeying the man quite readily once it became clear that these were important supplies that she was handling. Dawne did not have a death wish, as much as she hated being a slave. Her spite was not so strong that she'd kill herself to get revenge; besides, that was against her religion. So, Dawne obeyed, taking great care to set the crates down exactly like she'd been ordered to: two high for the food, waterskins in a pile with the ends pointed up. In fact, she may have dawdled on a little too long to make sure everything was perfect and let out a squeak when the man practically barked at her to hurry up.

"I'm trying! I'm trying! I'm just trying to make sure it's perfect like you said!" She said, a little frustrated. Dawne did her best to speed up and almost tripped once in the process, but after abandoning the quest for perfection, she soon managed to set a decent pace. With each box, though, Dawne pouted a bit more. There were a lot of supplies; that fat slaver had really wanted to get rid of her, hadn't he? With a huff, she muttered under her breath, "Good riddance to you, fat man. I hope I cost you plenty."

[Aymer]

Mikitah nodded. "Well, I suppose that's worth somethin'. But again, I'd like to be done before too long, else it'll be a cold night." Having said his piece, he continued to load the supplies up onto the wagon. They were about halfway through, and his arms were starting to get tired. He half wondered if he should have bought a slave more attuned to heavy physical labor. Though, watching Dawn'e hips sway back and worth as she moved the supply, he decided that he made the right choice. The nights might not be so cold after all.

He heard her mutter something, and frowned. "What was that, girl? I don't particularly like having my property whispering without me hearing. Care to repeat yourself?" Even if she was a fine physical specimen, her personality did leave something to be desired. Not that he couldn't handle it, but it would be a pain in the ass. Hers, specifically.

If the sight of those hips swaying from side to side wasn't enough to convince Mikitah that he'd made the right choice, then whenever the girl bent over and showed off that rather large, round rear end of hers surely would. The pants of her harem outfit were nearly see-through, still allowing for her cheeks to be easily seen by the man as she went about working like she'd been told to do. Her fluffy tail also swayed in opposite with her hips, helping her keep balance as she moved the crates around and set them here and there inside of the wagon. Soon, the supplies were all put away and Dawne, exhausted from all of the physical labor, sat her butt down on the ground and leaned against one of the crates as she huffed and puffed, trying to compose herself after such an exertion.

When she finally managed to regain her breath, she answered Mikitah's question without censoring herself at all. "I said 'Good riddance to you, fat man. I hope that I cost you plenty.'" Dawne was not a woman who was used to having to hold her tongue. "I do not wish to be property, but I do not wish to be near him any longer either. Awful man. A drunkard, secretly. Repulsive and disgusting." Dawne firmly nodded her head as she said this, seeing nothing wrong with speaking ill of the man as she wasn't doing so of Mikitah.

[Aymer]

Mikitah climbed up into the wagon and inspected her work. She seemed to have done her job adequately well. He looked down at her, smiling as she breathed hard. She had obviously never known labor before. Surely she would now. He turned around, unpinning the tarp that hand over the front of the wagon. It fell down, and now the space was enclosed in the canvas. It would do much to keep the cold out, but not enough. Going over to the crates that had been there before, he pulled out a great rug and several thick blankets. Ushering for her to move, he laid them out to create a sort of be.

He looked at her, eyes narrowing. "I will not have you speak that way. All you say may be true, but it would be improper of you to assume that you can freely speak your mind on whatever matters you wish." He stood over her, looking down at her. "I will not punish you this time. But in the future, if I hear you talk like that again, you will not enjoy the consequences. Remember, I've had slaves before. I know exactly how to make a pretty girl like you wish she had held her tongue."

Dawne gave Mikitah a slight pout for smiling down at her, sure that it was done in mocking of her somehow; was he making fun of her for how much she had struggled with the labor? She was sure that was likely the case, but she held her tongue for now, knowing that Mikitah was close enough as it was to punishing her. Having already been beaten a few times before, she wasn't eager to have that happen to her again, so she kept quiet about it and said nothing of her feelings as Mikitah finished up the work with the tarp, even obediently moving when the man gestured her to do so so that he could. However, a slight act of rebellion came out in her just scooting herself on her butt until she managed to get out of the way of the rug and when she came to a stop, she folded her arms across her chest.

Dawne turned her nose up into the air, only to have her vision filled with Mikitah towering above her a moment later. Dawne gave him a steely look for a second and then looked away before saying, "Fine. Whatever. If you Asakayans want me to hold my tongue, fine. I'll just shut up since that's what you want so badly." This ongoing culture shock was continually testing Dawne, pushing at her limits and boundaries. She was not used to any of this and the slaver had done very little to train her of what it meant to even be a slave. She had little idea of what it meant to be one, little idea of how to act as one, and her own culture was a huge obstacle to learning.

[Aymer]

Mikitah shook his head. 'While I ain't exactly gonna call that a respectful tone of voice, at least it's what I want you to do. I don't care if you speak of ask questions, but we are going to have a problem if you keep acting like a prideful brat." He sat down on the rug and, reaching over, pulled out a small oil lantern. He struck two pieces of flint together to make a spark, and soon there was a small glow filling the wagon." He places the lamp to the side, looking at her. "Now, don't even think about climbing in here all dusty like that." He supposed that left her with two options: either step outside and beat the sand off her clothes, or simply remove the clothes entirely. He knew which option he would prefer. "If you go outside, don't even think about running. Actually..." He knelt over a crate, opening it. He pulled out a collar and a lead. "I know you already got one of these, but... turn around."