With a sigh half between a raspberry noise and a groan that set her pursed lips quivering, Neena plonked herself down on the edge of the small lake that was the Oasis the Zaire tribe were currently camped beside. Next to where her butt hit the sand was a large basket that she wanted nothing to do with, already more interested in where her toes dug into the wet sand and paddled in the water's edge. Little splooshes and pitter patters came from the water's surface breaking and dancing beneath her wiggling toes as she looked out at the ripples that spread across the lake's surface.
Folding her arms over her knees and resting the side of her head on them to look to her left at the large stack of fabrics inside the basket, Neena made that same sigh again and made a face of disinterest. The washing was going to take her all day. And what was worse (or at least emotionally more annoying) was that the task had taken her outside of the tribe's hawes, away over a dune and beyond prying eyes... only she could do nothing with it. On the journey from the Somalu to the Zaire, it had become clear with what she could (or rather couldn't) see, that this particular encampment of the tribe was so far from anything considered civilisation that there was absolutely no way running would do her any good. She'd starve before she'd been on her own for more than a week. Die of thirst before then most likely.
It was frustrating to be presented by a clearly useful moment of escape, only to have it be entirely useless to her. The desert sands might as well have been stone walls of fifty feet height.
Then again... she had only been with the Zaire for two days. There would be other opportunities. What she needed to do first was prove her trustworthiness... so that this kind of open allowance on her movements continued, even when they approached areas that would provide an escape...
With that thought in mind, Neena turned to the basket with a huff and turned herself on her bottom so that she was kneeling at the water's edge. She took up the first of the kaftans on the pile and started working.
By the time she was finished and the damp but clean cloth was now all bundled into the basket ready to be taken back to camp and hung out to dry, it was late afternoon and Neena's arms ached. There was a light sheen of sweat on her brow and another between her shoulder blades from the continuous motion of squashing and beating the dirt and sand from the cloth in the water.
Despite being told to go back to the camp as soon as the chore was complete, Neena curled a lip to herself in derision of following the order and, instead, stood up, dusted off her bottom and knees, and stood three steps into the water. The surface of the lake rose to meet her and soon she was up to her knees in the cool and clear water, able to see her toes through the transparent surface and wiggling them in the sand with a smile.
Bending low, Neena reached her hands in as well, the cool nice against her pulse points on the inside of her wrists. It had been a hot day and she had been knelt under the beating sun way too long. Taking her cupped hand from the lake and settling it over the back of her neck, she felt the trickle of cold run down between her shoulder blades. It was soothing, so she did the same with her hair, dampening it with the water to let it seep through to her heated scalp and then stood, flicking her shoulder length hair back from her face and over her head as she came vertical. She reached up to shake her fingers through the tresses, twisting at the locks to squeeze out the water that simply trickled onto her clothing, plastering it to her skin. Every touch of lake to person was exquisite after a near whole day in the heat, and Neena closed her eyes to enjoy the feeling, a soft smile to the corner of her mouth.
Hasani had yet to feel impressed by the new slave that the tribe had taken on in the last two days. She seemed intent to not do anything that was truly required of her, lazing about in any way that she seemed to be able to get away with. In truth, it was irritating, but the girl was beautiful. And when she did do her duties she actually did them well. The tribe seemed to have little to complain about by way of their new slave simply because she was horribly confusing at the worst of times and utterly charming at the best.
He, however, found her charming all of the time. Even when she was slacking off. There was something about her… well-traveled demeanor that left him more curious than irritable that she was honestly the worst slave that the tribe owned. He silently lamented the Somalu tribe for even offering the girl. In equal parts he was also glad that they had accepted her.
But, as the leader of the Zaire, he was also required to ensure that everything and everyone were in their proper places. Not lagging behind or sneaking about. This included the curious little Neena that he was currently carrying himself quickly toward. Weaving in and out of small crowds people, between tents, and under carried cots full of supplies, Hasani navigated himself back toward the oasis.
This was where he had been instructed that she was by a few of the other slaves that Hasani had asked in the minutes previous. Brushing his hands on his trousers, he approached the oasis absently, letting his gaze flit to the sky, the greenery, and then the water.
Hasani paused then, squinting at the young woman who had chosen now to clean her hair instead of whatever it was she had been tasked with (he didn't rightly know, nor did he exactly care about the fine details). Crossing his arms firmly over his chest, he simply observed her amd the way that she poured water onto her neck and long locks with cupped hands. Hasani wouldn't fault her. The desert was scorching and he would deny no one water. The problem was that soon, the sun would begin to set and everyone needed to be close to the camp. Food and drink would begin to flow among the people and the tone of the day would turn from work to joyful merriment.
As it did every night when the sun started to set.
Clearing his throat, Hasani finally approached Neena, an eyebrow lifted in silent curiosity. "It's getting late, Neena," he noted calmly, motioning to the basket of linens that was sitting at her feet. "And I am sure you do not want to miss out on the evening meal," he offered, approaching her. The thing about Hasani that he was not one to ask someone to do something that he himself was not willing to do. Thus, without waiting for a response, he leaned down to pick up her basket and then nodded with his chin toward the camp. It would take them time to make the trip back and he figured now was as good a time as any to ask the many questions that had been burning in his mind since the tribe had obtained the girl.
Neena jumped a little when a voice called out to her from the edge of the lake. She turned to assess who it was and - honestly - had no clue who the man was or how he knew her name. She had had no direct communication with the man ever since she arrived with the tribe two days ago. There was a little bit of ego in her that kind of liked the fact that she was already someone to be on first name terms with. Not just "slave" or "girl" but a name that identified her as herself. The man - whoever he was - had clearly been paying attention to her. Which she couldn't help but find flattering.
And if he was happy to lug that heavy basket back to the encampment for her? All the better!
With an open shrug and a last handful of water that she pulled her tunic away from her back and poured down her spine to keep herself cool on the walk back, Neena turned and waded out of the lake, her bare toes digging into the sand for good purchase and her legs shining wet as she made it back into dry land.
"Sounds like a plan to me!" She simply said, not adding on a "whoever you are" that she thought to herself. The man was handsome. And probably had an ego to match. Which meant admitting she had no idea who he was might just piss him off. And she wasn't about to risk having to carry that basket herself.
Shaking out her hair and darting back up the edge of the lake and sand dune to where he stood, Neena was all long limbed as she skirted and danced around him, kicking up little tufts of sand as she went and started heading back towards the encampment, only looking back once when he didn't appear to be keeping up immediately.
"Come on slow poke, or you'll be the one without an evening meal." She taunted him, turning to face forwards once more and walking out across the sands with a soft sway to her hips. She was hungry and looking forward to some hot food in her belly before she laid her head down to sleep that night...
It has never occured to the man that whoever had toted the slave girl back to camp had not taken the time to actually show her about or teach her who was who in this place. But, admittedly, the man was momentarily pleased that he had some anonymity in this situation. Hasani truly liked to think of himself as being just like any other member of the tribe. But kings, leiers, were always looked a little differently no matter how down to earth they appeared to be.
Thus, the fact that the slave girl Neena did not know who he was was a major plus in his mind. It meant he could ask questions and maybe get answers without the girl potentially shying away or clamming up. Not that Hasani honestly thought that this strong headed girl would actually stop talking once she started.
Easily hoisting the basket up onto his shoulder, Hasani picked up the pace to keep up with her long strides. He didn't huff or puff, the packed muscle on his form making it clear that he was not out of shape by any means. He still enjoyed a hunt and he still liked to wipe the floor with the various tribesmen who sometimes vyed for a chance to best him at sparring.
Staring ahead, Hasani kept his gaze off of her, shuffling through the sand with a practiced ease that made his steps steady and infallible. Finally, when they were moving at a steady pace, Hasani cleared his throat. "How did you end up with the Somalu tribe?" was the first question out of his mouth. It was one of the many questions that had been burning at the forefront of his mind. She seemed so well traveled but not everyone who traveled ended up a slave. He figured he could start there, getting her talking so that he could segue into the many other questions on his mind.
Neena glanced around at the man who had come to walk with her back to the tribe and smiled at his question. She made a noise between pursed lips that sounded like a sharp expulsion of air - a clear sign that whatever the answer to his question was it was silly and unimportant. She waved a hand to add to the illusion.
"Nothing so spectacular." She told him, dropping her hands and her shoulders falling into a shrug. "Hunger overrode logic and I got caught eating something I didn't pay for. The choice was slavery or lose one of my hands and I'm far too pretty to be lopsided." She shrugged again as her tone went a little more serious (but not much) hinting that her next words were the ones she felt the strongest. "I knew better. It was a risky take and I should have left it alone - waited for another mark. But I didn't and I got caught. So, here I be." She raised both hands, palms up towards the sky. "But it's all good. I'll run for it whenever I have the next best opportunity." She told the man, glancing back at him with a wicked smile and the waggling of her eyebrows in a gesture that clearly masked whether she was serious or not about such claims.
They continued the walk forwards the encampment in sight but a little more of a walk away. In the desert, the sands could be misleading as to how far or near something truly was so - while they could see the camp a few dunes over - it would be about a half hour walk before they actually reached it. At least, that was how long it had taken her to get to the lake in the first place.
"So, what about you?" She asked the man, placing her hands into the folds of her tunic as if they were pockets and kicking at a little stone in the sands in front of her as she walked. "How long have you been with the Zaire?"
As she spoke, Neena turned on her heels and started to cross the sands backwards, so that she might be able to continue the conversation with him easier and with eye contact, even as they made their way back towards home and the smell of roasting meat...
Hasani found himself watching the way that this young woman moved with her back to him, dark eyes scanning what he could see for any scars or marks. She was stunning in the most exotic of ways. Nearly on par with his own wife, though Tanishe was the most exquisite woman he had ever laid eyes upon. Then again, the leier was biased. He had spent his life growing up beside the woman. It was difficult not to be enamoured with her, especially since their marriage was so inexplicably happy. This slave girl? She made Hasani curious beyond his wits. If only two days among the tribe was all it took for the girl to drive him to the lengths of getting her alone so he could ask questions, his mind wondered at the possibility of what would happen the longer she was with the Zaire tribe.
The wave of her hand caught his attention and the man silently reminded himself that he had asked her a question. How she had come to be a slave in the first place. Listening with quiet interest in his gaze, watching her the whole way and navigating over the difficult sand like he were walking solid ground, Hasani found himself lifting an eyebrow at her. Sometimes it was surprising to him that people could be taken as slaves for the simple crime of being hungry. It was difficult to imagine… the tribe was based in trade and barter… and they didn't let them and theirs go hungry.
That simply was not how a tribe of roaming people did things. If they did, there would be no one left to inhabit the tribe. He would have no one to lead. No one to care for. But it was the playful comment about her escaping that made Hasani finally lift his brows. "Will you now? Do not let the leieren hear you say that" amusement laced his voice and he tilted his head a bit as if to consider whether she would be able to make it or not. Across the sands. Alone.
Probably not. But he respected her comment and consideration of her skills.
Hasani shifted the basket from one arm to the other as the young woman turned to walk backward in order to keep her gaze on him. He was not against telling her his story, but he was kind of having fun with the fact that she didn't know who he was. But all fun illusions needed to be broken at some point. His gaze flicked to her hands in her tunic, his eyebrow lifting again. This girl was strange.
"I was born into the tribe," he noted. "And raised by the tribe after my parents died," Hasani finally noted after considering her for a few long moments. His feet shuffled through small divots of sand but he kept his balance, so used to the hilly, soft earth that he hardly noticed the change in terrain most times. His legs were strong, not just from training, but from the effort it took to travel a desert for the entirety of a lifetime. "I served as the old leier's bodyguard for a number of years," a small shrug of his shoulders gave the impression that it was no big deal in the grand scheme of things.
"Nothing so spectacular," Hasani copied her words from before, his smile growing.
Neena laughed at the way the handsome man offered her own words back to her. She liked people who listened and were sharp. It kept the conversation interesting beyond the point of simple pleasantries. And it was clear, from the way his expressions changed and the way that his words mimicked her own that he was listening to her little story. She could do him only the same credence and offer him the same attentions to his own.
Rather than allow her features to fall into a mask of sympathy and an expression that read "poor little poor", she kept her eyes wide, her face open and friendly and listened without emotional reaction. When he had done and then spoke her words back, she took it as a volley in the conversation - a throw out for her to continue it. She took it, metaphorically, with both hands.
"I think that sounds fantastic." She stated, with a blunt honesty that was normal for her and was just a little naive of how it could be considered insensitive. She managed to correct herself a little. "I mean... it's sad about your parents and all, but... I dunno the idea of being raised by a group of people rather than just two?" She grinned at him. "You must be very wise to carry around so many views of the world inside yourself."
And with that determination, Neena turned forward once more in order to lean over and support her traipse up a slightly steeper sand dune than her height allowed on foot alone, with the tips of her fingers brushing the sands. When she got to the top and could see the Zaire encampment just down the other side, Neena held out her hands from the top of the dune.
"You want me to take that?" She asked, reaching for the basket of heavy fabrics he held. The next few steps were steep and she wasn't about to let the man drop it and undo all her afternoon's hard work by losing the washing across the sandy terrain.
Hasani couldn't blame her for being so excited about their conversation. He especially could not blame her simply because her laugh was like music and he found himself wanting to hear more of it. He was far too interested in what she had to say to be anywhere near insulted about the sudden outburst of blunt conversation. From what he had gathered, Neena was both chatty and blunt, a combination that he could respect, all things considered. Especially because the infrastructure of the tribe was based entirely on ancestral faith and socialization. It was almost... unusual if one wasn't willing to be social and open among the Zaire tribe.
The openness of the previous leier, and the similar temperament of Hasani himself had helped to foster that more open relationship with his large family. Whether other tribes were so similar, he had never asked. "It was a harrowing experience," Hasani said with a smile, shifting the basket slightly on his arms, his attention fully on her. "But I would not call myself wise," he added as an afterthought, "I can only be as wise as the men before me, after all. And it is haughty to assume yourself wise to begin with. Weathered, practiced, maybe. But not wise," Hasani was shaking his head, only pausing when they made it to the base of a larger dune.
Lifting the basket up to her, he smiled politely. "Of course," he noted, taking the careful steps he needed to make it up the hill. He paused at the top to gaze ahead at the gathered gesin. "In truth, I was raised most of my life by the previous leier. I started as a bodyguard when I was young, but..." Hasani figured it should be the end of his game.
It would be unfair for her to bounce back among the slaves and admit that the handsome man she walked from the oasis with was just... ordinary. Especially because it was likely that many of the slaves or women would all snort and inform her of his status in the first place. While keeping it from her was incredibly fun in the moment, in the long run, it would not be entirely fair to her view of the world around her.
"I then married the leier's daughter," Hasani said, "and after a... devestating chain of events, the Gesin became mine to lead." With his dark gaze flicking to her face he gave a bit of a smile, "Again... nothing so specatular." Rubbing the back of his neck for a moment, he carefully took the basket back from her, stepping down the other side of the dune and offering her his free hand to help guide her down just in case she slipped.
Wanting to then change the topic away from himself, he found himself observing her once more. "What did you do before you became a slave? How did you find yourself at a point where you had to steal to eat?" the hard pronunciation of the last words of his question gave a very apparent opinion on how he felt about anyone having to go hungry.
Hungry was just something they did not do in the tribe. Slavery for being hungry? Well... that would never sit well with him.
Taking the basket that proffered her, Neena made she that she had a good and solid grip on the thicker weave that wound its way around the rim of the container. Bent over as she was, she needed to ensure a strong hold before she then lifted the basket and took control back of it, rather than allowing it to tumble and fall down the hill, its weight dragging her with it. She noticed that Hasani had no issues in lifting the item up high on his frame, his upper arms tightening to ensure that the basket was held securely and stably, as she reached down to take it.
With the basket hauled up and once more braced upon Neena's hip, she simply stood and waited for the man to clamber the rest of the way, taking a few steps back and down the other, shallower side of the dune as he rose to the top, making sure to stay out of his way as he found his footing in the sand. Most Bedoans were secure in how they traversed their ever changing and ever fluctuating lands but it was always easy for someone to slip, regardless of how long they had lived in the desert.
When he commented about not being wise, only practised, Neena offered a delicate snort by exhaling through her nose.
"That's what wisdom is, isn't it? Past experience. To have it at birth would be intelligence, not wisdom." She flashed him a glance. "And I never suggested that you were intelligent."
As they wandered down the shallower side of the dune, Neena keeping her balance easy enough with the basket under one arm, her own feminine muscles toned as they took control of the extra weight, she listened to the rest of Hasani's story, it eventually culminating in the fact that he was the Leier of the tribe she was now owned by. When he made such a reveal, he looked at her as if expecting some reaction. She gave not much for, to Neena, a person's importance was not decided by the rank they placed before their name. She considered herself to be important, didn't she? And she had no such thing.
"Do you love her?" She asked bluntly, with open curiosity. And when Hasani, in his own words, confirmed that he did but asked why she would want to know, Neena simply grinned. "Just trying to work out if you were sleeping your way to the top of the food chain." She suggested sassily, but her tone implied great humour.
When Hasani went onto ask her about her life and what she had done prior to being a slave - why she had had to steal food - Neena had simply grinned again, totally unperturbed by the question.
"Because I ran out of money." She told him simply, bluntly and a little evasively as he asked why she had resorted to stealing. "And I don't do it so often." She admitted, speaking in the present tense for she was determined in her mind to be free once more and live the liberated life she did not so long ago. "Only when I have to." She flashed him an amused look and then answered the first part of his query. "And I've been and done just about everything." He told her, her smile bright and her eyes sparking fire. "Whatever I fancy trying or need to do for some coin to feed myself." She shrugged. She knew the double meaning in her words but didn't bother to correct it. The one thing she had never done was sell her body for sexual pleasure. Sell her body? Yes, she'd performed all kinds of manual labour. She's juggled and entertained, she was a dancer, she could translate all the Bedoan dialects, Greek, Kemetic and a little Hebrew, she could play games of chance and gambling, she performed honest work as a masseuse and healer. She knew how to sail and was a good shipman. She had given just about everything she encountered a go. And she intended to keep doing the same. "Life's fun when you have no plan."
Hasani couldn't help but keep the smile on his features. This Neena was bold. She spoke her mind and she didn't seem afraid of what the consequences might be. Silently, he wondered what chain of events or part of her life had made her such. Most of the slaves they did keep were not so bold and outspoken, likely too afraid of the retaliation that a tribe so peaceful as the Zaire might impress on them. Hasani did not like to have the slaves punished for their misdeeds, but there were times where there were no other options.
But punishment for sheer boldness, for having a personality was not something that Hasani was interested in. If he were honest, the leier liked the honesty and the ability to speak without fear. They needed more people like Neena in their ranks... even if being here was not exactly her first choice.
The question of his love for his wife was not a strange one. There were no titles in the Bedoan tribes save for those of the leier and the leieren, and even then, Hasani still liked to keep them as equals to himself. He had simply fallen in love with a woman while under no such impression that he would ever get to lead the tribe itself. Initially, he hadn't even wanted to lead, though he refused to disappoint his previous leier. Frowning just slightly, Hasani eyed Neena from her side, glancing back toward the encampment now that it was so clearly in view.
"I love my wife deeply. She was not in line to lead when I married her. I only married Tanishe because she was the woman I wanted and the woman that made my heart sing. I wanted that every day, power or no," Hasani said honestly, almost sappingly sweet in his tone. He had gotten it. His love for Tanishe had only grown over the years, as it had for almost the entirety of his life up to this point.
The concept of money itself was so odd to Hasani. He had traded between the tribes, the Judeans, and the Egyptians... but they didn't take money. To them, gold was useless. It bore no real useful weight on the harsh sands of the desert. It only served to make their packs heavy. And you could not eat or drink gold.
"I have always found it so strange that other Kingdoms rely so heavily on gold for survival," Hasani admitted, "It would be so much simpler if everyone simply traded for what they needed rather than encumber themselves with heavy metals and greed," the leier continued, his brow furrowed. "We are not rich, as other Kingdoms would say, but we are rich with life. Does that not seem the better way of things?"
Moving through the sand, he put a hand against the small of her back to keep her from slipping on one of the headier slopes, even lifting his other hand to brace the basket just in case. But then the leier relaxed, stuffing his hands into his shirt and shuffling sharply ahead and turning around so that he could walk backwards and watch her. "So then, Neena," Hasani hummed in a rich tone, one of curiosity, "Tell me who you have been and what you have done if you have spent so little time with the tribes," he mused, unable to keep the curious glint out of his eye.
Had she sailed seas? Made weapons? Ridden horses? Picked beach glass out of the sand? There were hundreds of other concepts running through his mind, but he wouldn't get ahead of himself. The cheerful leier wanted to hear for himself what the engimatic Neena had done with her life thus far, save for stealing just to fill her belly.