“As you are about it,” said Ceralt, taking my thoughts from a place of spinning, “remove the balance of your garments as well. A man’s leather may be necessary for the journey, yet it has no place here in my tent.”
I looked upon him then and he returned the look, yet there was no further trace of the anger and dismay he had shown but a few moments earlier. He meant no more than to command his slave and see himself obeyed, and would not allow the matter to be discussed. With lips tightened to a line of anger, I turned from him again and commenced the removal of the balance of the leathers, knowing only that the fey of my freedom was inevitably approaching. Upon its arrival, this matter and others would be well seen to. When all of my garments lay thrown to one side, Lialt put his meat aside and gestured me closer. He had earlier gone to the packs at the rear of the tent, and had returned with a covered pot which seemed familiar. As I stood before him, he uncovered the pot to show a pink liquid, thick yet thin enough to flow slowly, and I knew the why of the pot’s familiarity. Ceralt had once used the pot’s contents upon me, just as Lialt now placed his fingers within the liquid, then raised them covered to my thigh. The liquid seemed cool to my flesh, yet a moment of gentle rubbing removed the coolness and also somehow eased the ache in my thigh. Lialt looked critically upon the other tracks of Silla spears, added the pink liquid to those he disliked, then took a cloth upon which he might wipe his hands.
“She should now rest,” said he to Ceralt, reclaiming his provender and biting from it. “With her wounds as recently healed as they are, the journey will not be easy for her.”
Ceralt nodded and looked upon me sourly. “The journey would be less difficult for any other wench in her place,” said he, his eyes for some reason impatient. “Jalav being Jalav, the difficulties will surely increase. Place yourself there, wench, belly down and lying still.”
The other males chuckled at Ceralt’s words, yet I was able to see no humor in them, nor was I able to find approval in his command. The place to which I had been directed was in the midst of the males, and my reluctance as I lay flat in the lanthay fur was great indeed. I did not care to be in the midst of the males, belly down and unclothed before them, no more than a pace from any of them. The lanthay fur was soft, holding my breasts and belly and thighs gently; however, the eyes of the males were not soft. All fed upon the provender I had prepared, yet none seemed immersed in the business of feeding. Lialt lay at ease upon his left arm and side, his jaws busily working the meat he had been given, his eyes moving openly upon me as they had not done when the pot of liquid had been in his hands. Telion sat cross-legged to my right, healing his hunger absently, his eyes deeply involved in following the line of my body where it lay before him. Ceralt, too, studied me where I lay, the bright look in his eyes most familiar, and it came to me that each of these males had had me, that each had made me writhe beneath him, helpless before his manhood. I lowered my eyes to the white fur beneath my arms and studied it, allowing no more than the memory of Telion and Ceralt beneath the hands of my warriors to come to me. I held to such memories, yet the weight of the eyes of the males upon me did not lessen.
I lay so before the males for a number of reckid, and my mind insisted upon returning to the strange words Ceralt had spoken to me upon the matter of pain. He had voiced a desire to share and soothe my pain, a thing I did not fully understand, yet perhaps it was something of an explanation for the actions of city women. Should other males feel as Ceralt did upon the matter, city females would be taught to voice their pain rather than refuse it acknowledgment as Midanna were taught. I saw no reason for such a thing, for pain is more easily bested in silence, yet city females voiced their pain to their males, perhaps in the foolish hope that the pain would be more quickly lessened. Thus far was I able to struggle toward understanding, yet meaning for the balance of his words eluded me. A warrior often called upon her sisters for aid, for they were Midanna and often of the same clan, yet which Midanna would be foolish enough to seek aid from a male? Males wished use from a Midanna and blind obedience, and I knew not why Ceralt would speak of asking his aid. What aid would a male spare for a warrior? And what need had he meant, a need I might find for him beyond the need of the furs? In what other way does one feel need for a male? Of what good are males, that a warrior would feel need for one? I tugged at the lanthay fur beneath my fingers, rubbed my cheek upon its warmth and softness, and fought inwardly to know the meaning of the thoughts of Ceralt.
“Jalav.” Raising my head brought sight again of Ceralt, for it had been he who had spoken, and who now looked more directly into my face. His meat had been consumed, yet a portion of it remained, already cut, and I had no doubt as to the reason for its having been left untouched.
“You have not yet been fed,” said he, moving closer to where I lay. He now sat cross-legged just before me, his knee near to my face. As he looked down upon me, a gentleness entered the strange, light eyes of him. “The fey has been long for one so recently healed,” he said. “Surely you feel hunger?”
I knew not what he sought with such a question, the answer to which should have been obvious, and therefore remained silent under his gaze. With the wordless passing of time, the gentleness faded from his eyes to be replaced with his usual look of strength.
“Woman, I require an answer,” he said, his voice without anger yet tinged with impatience. “Do you feel hunger?”
“Jalav feels some small hunger,” I replied cautiously, wishing to give him naught with which he might shame me further. My hunger was indeed great, as it had been for some time, yet I would not show weakness before males.
“Good,” said Ceralt, smiling as though pleased with my response. “The female Jalav feels hunger. Why, then has the female Jalav not fed herself?”
A frown came to me upon hearing his question, and I could not rid myself of the feeling that he spoke to a purpose. Too often males speak in dizzying circles, yet Ceralt had a look about him that I had seen before and knew well. The male had set himself to bedevil me, perhaps with that which he termed a lesson, perhaps to idle time away in amusement, yet bedevil me he would, with none to deny him.
“I do not know what answers you seek,” I informed him, finding difficulty in raising my head high. I lay upon my belly before him, my neck already stretched so that I might see him, and the position was not one easily described as dignified.
“Allow me then to assist you,” he chuckled, his hand reaching forth to brush loose hair from my cheek. “You hunger, yet have not fed yourself, and there is but one reason for this: men have not given you permission to do so. Do you understand my meaning?”
“Indeed.” I nodded, certain that he would not care for my reply. “Males fear to set themselves against Jalav in the hunt, therefore has she been kept from it. Were she able to hunt, she would not hunger.”
A noise, somewhat similar to strangling, came from Telion, and when I looked toward him, saw that his hand rubbed at his face as he coughed. I thought it likely that he had swallowed wrong and returned my gaze to Ceralt. The light-eyed leader of those called Belsayah also looked upon Telion, though not kindly, and then his annoyance was again directed toward me.
“You are in part correct,” said he, lowering his brows to look upon me sternly. “Jalav is female, and females do not hunt. Should a female wish to eat, she must look to a man to provide for her. Each morsel you eat is provided by me, and should I wish to punish you, you will be made to go hungry. I shall not go hungry, nor shall Lialt nor Telion, yet should it be my wish, you will not be fed. Is this now more understandable to you?”