Naba watched the girl wash away as much of grime as she could without any cleaning lotions (soap) and she spent a lot of time cleaning her hair, which was longer than he had originally thought and even more colorful than had been originally apparent under the dirt. She would wash some, look around, wash some, watch him, look around, and wash some more. Naba knew she was considering her options. He also knew she could not go far if she tried, not without taking more food and water than she could carry. If she was smart, she would know better.

Naba slowly prepared a light meal, some pieces of meat seared over a small fire, a melon cut into bite sized pieces, and some figs. He went to the cart and got out the shackles he would put on her later that night. Tomorrow he’d give her sandals to wear and a simple tunic to wrap herself in under the cloak. He put those near the rear of the cart so they would also be handy.

He watched as she finally finished bathing herself and reluctantly returned the short distance to the camp. Cleaned up she was even more beautiful. The slavers had certainly diminished their returns by not presenting this beauty under better circumstances. They must have been anxious to dispose of her which could only mean they had gotten her illegally. Again, as had happened so many times before, Naba could only speculate on the cause of his good karma.

A breeze filled the air as the sun sank below the hilltops and the girl shivered. Her nipples crinkled in the air and she tried to cover herself. Naba watched her skin pebble with goosebumps. He was surprised as he felt his lingam grow at the sight of her red thatched yoni. He’d bought and sold other women before, even enjoyed training them for their eventual owners. But that was just business. He’d only rarely found himself actually lusting after them. But this one was the finest looking woman he’d ever bought.

She bent and scooped up his cloak and wrapped it around herself. None-the-less, as she bent for it, Naba saw how nicely her buttocks swelled and how her yoni peeked and beckoned to him from between her legs.

She looked around as if unsure of what to do next. Naba beckoned her over to the small fire.

“Come. Sit. Eat.” Naba sat on his haunches, knees spread, as she approached. He put some pieces of meat on a small square plate fired from modest pottery clay, but painted and glazed in an unusual manner that had reminded him of the lights that sometimes shine in the night skies of the far north. He pointed to the bowl with the melon and figs.

“As much of the fruit as you want… Don’t be shy. I am hungry so I know you must be too.” Naba began eating as he watched her. Later…

“Do you have a name? What did your last owner call you?”