Stirrings

The child peered dumbly up into the sun. It’s wicked light had been searing her eyes for some time and now she looked directly into it’s flame. It seemed to pulse with slow but deliberate and malicious intent, burning her already red and cracked little body even more. Her once fair skin was a departed memory, replaced by an abhorrent red sheath that cooked her flesh and addled her young brain. The sun crackled into the girl’s pale blue eyes and transformed her vision, until all that existed was a pulsating blue glob, dancing grotesquely across her retinas.

A solid smack to the back of her head brought the child out of her stupor. She stared around blankly and didn’t immediately move, trying to get her bearings and remember her name.

A vicious slap across her burnt cheek sent her sprawling to the ground to land on the scorching hot sand. She screamed and tried to jump to her feet but when she placed her hands on the ground hot sand got into the sunburnt cracks and sent a whole new wave of pain through her skinny frame. She screamed again and tried to roll back into the shadow but a heavy boot slammed into her ribs, stealing her breath and sending her further out into the searing desert. With no breath to scream she tried to return to a standing position but her little body was giving up. She collapsed back to the sand, not moving and no longer quite caring, an innocent child with no other wish than to leave the waking hell that she found herself in.

A rough and grimy hand seized her by the back of her dress and hauled her to her feet. Still in a heat addled daze, she tried to comprehend the situation and her mouth moved, trying to speak, but it felt as though it were full of sand, which it mostly was. She spit and tried again but another solid slap sent spots across her vision and she ceased her efforts to speak. A waft of fetid breath reached her nose and she moaned in fear.

"One more incident from you and I will drag you behind my horse! I’ve tolerated enough weakness from you. Now, get up and walk you little bitch, or I will give you to the ‘efreets and let you enjoy their tender mercies!" This was punctuated by another stinging slap.

She looked at Wing with equal parts fear and hatred. The fear part was very natural. Anyone with sense should fear a jing-na-lu. The hatred was different. She had to hide it way down deep, for should Wing think it of her, he would execute her in a minute. This little one had learned many things and the chief thing that she had learned in her short life was survival. Having been on a slave caravan with the jing-na-lu for over two seasons was a testament to her toughness. The swirling white sands of the kinlawinani, also known as the Shizmi Desert, had long ago claimed many, many people that had been

older, bigger, stronger and meaner than her. She had outlasted them all, and continued to live her precarious life.

She turned and stared directly at Wing, drawing a vicious glare from one of the slavers. She cared not. Her eyes fixated on him, burning with a fierce hatred, tears running freely down her flame-kissed cheeks. This man was the holder of her life, and according to Wing, also the possessor of her soul.