A Slave Among Nobles and a Noble Among Slaves

(Closed for Bellawolf) (This is an alternate version of a previous idea)

In the large Irish town of Monaghan, there were few so well-known as those called the 'Georgia Brothers', three Irish werewolves who'd been to the American state of Georgia and learned the ways of southern plantations. They'd returned recently after a good four years away, and begun plantations of their own. One grew potatoes, one grew allium plants such as onions and leeks, and the last grew hardy wheat.

All three pooled their families' meager wealth before they began planting, and to make more money, they elected that one among them join in the slave trade, and he made a fortune in doing so. When they had their money, they built new grand homes in the style of Irish keeps, and they planted massive fields of crops.

It was after two years of this that one of the Irish wolves, the potato-grower Kelly MacAmbridge, grew tired of his weak old slaves and he sold them off. With his remaining fortune and what he'd gotten from the sale, he sent a letter to a slave mill in Belfast, asking for twoscore of the best working male slaves and one score of strong women. And then he made a special request for three of the prettiest young women they had, to be housekeepers alongside five able housekeeping men.

It was only a few days after his letter arrived that three score and eight of the strongest or prettiest human slaves were rounded up, clothed in either white dress shirts and dark trousers for the men, or dark clay-red dresses for the women. All were given brand new iron collars around their necks to replace the shoddy canvas collars they'd been forced to wear before, the metal engraved with 'KMA' for their new master's name.

They were all told by their supervisors that they were going to serve Kelly MacAmbridge, a fine upstanding young man of Monaghan. They were told that if he sent any back, they'd be put to work in the flour mills where the slaves worked the rest of their lives straining to move a grindstone to grind the flour. It often killed many before their time with accidents or exhaustion.

They were all chained in shackles and taken onboard a train in boxcars, and the supervisors made sure to keep them looking clean and healthy. They were treated better on that journey than they ever had been before in their lives. When they arrived at Monaghan, a group of MacAmbridge's overseers, all brawny centaur men, came to fetch them with werecreature partners to help. The werecreatures were of all types; wolf, big cat, drake, and so on. And coming to oversee the whole thing was a dragon as large as a small house. The humans had seen dragons before, the great beasts being eloquent, wise, and powerful leaders, but never up close.

"Keep in line now," the dragon reminded almost gently. "Two lines, please, backs straight. You will be presented to your new master shortly and you must make a good impression if you wish to be treated well. Will those specially brought to be housekeepers please come forward? Right at the front, if you wouldn't mind." His emerald scales rippled in the sunlight as he motioned with a great clawed hand to the front of the line. His soft blue eyes looked over those who stepped forward, and he seemed interested in the three women. The supervisors at Belfast had good taste, but one looked like she still had a fire in her.

I’d never been to Monaghan. Of course I’d never been anywhere before. Why was I here, you ask? I was sent over to the slave mill shortly after my owner passed away. He had no sons, no heirs. So all of his great wealth and lands he bequeathed to some charity or other and they had no use for slaves. Where did that leave me? At a slave mill in Belfast, a rotten place. Dingy and unkempt, barely any food or clean water; the rats were fed better. I came unmarked as my previous owner had never felt it important to brand me nor my mother or her mother before that. Thankfully there were no tears to be shed for my mother had passed several years ago and I never did meet my father.

As the supervisors came in to inspect us one morning for purchase, I couldn’t help but notice the slaves they seemed most interested in. Strong strapping males, able-bodied females and naturally there was some importance on appearances. My owner had taken care of me; I was never beaten or mistreated, I received a proper education and was allowed to freely aid my mother in homemade remedies. It was a skill passed down from my grandmother and her mother before her. You see while we were human, my family originally came from the nobility. We were prized stock as they would say. Gifted in the arts, such as painting, singing, poetry, writing, dancing, scribing, apothecary…

Yes, highly sought after, highly valued. Yet one of my ancestors had crossed the line; too bold for his station, he took it upon himself to steal from his master and his treachery was discovered shortly after. It was horrible for not only him but our entire lineage. We were cast out, shunned. The nobles grew wary of placing such trust and power into the hands of mere servants.

We were sold off to the middleclass families, if we were lucky, some of us were given away. We were spread out, some taken overseas, many of us scattered about the neighboring villages. As the years passed, they moved us even father from each other. The rumors spread, trickling down into the middleclass about our family line and with it a grave warning; don’t trust the Greyson slaves. If you own one, sell or destroy it… From there, our lines weakened significantly as we were scattered and sold farther and farther away never to see each other again.

For us, we had to survive. That meant changing our last name. When a new owner would buy us and they would ask us for our name we’d give another so that we could hopefully save ourselves from the imminent loss of value. It was dangerous to be owned by the lesser classes; we were at risk of torture, mistreatment, hark labor like the plow instead of embracing our gifts as the true artisans we were. The lower classes didn’t need you to dance unless they owned such a venue save for prostituting you out into the streets. What good was your voice? The ability to write beautiful prose? Worthless… Utterly worthless…

Thankfully the master that had bought my grandmother had an eye for beauty as well as a gentle nature about him. He widowed early and sought the affection of a companion. My grandmother became his private consort and he cared very deeply for her. My mother was a direct product from their secret union. The master had been a wealthy man with significant holdings and so we were fed and clothed well. We had small quarters right inside the main house.

We were safe yet we could never let our guard down. My grandmother had been right to conceal our secret; for while there were far fewer Greyson slaves about these days the threat still existed. Anyone known to own one from our lineage was frowned upon in society and outwardly criticized. Our master had been a tender soul and the risk was far too great. And so I was taught the art of concealment.

I was far more lithe and graceful than the other girls in the manor I grew up in. So in order to alleviate myself of several menial duties, I refined a carefully practiced technique of inept movements so much so that I wasn’t allowed near the kitchens. Coincidentally I was also excused from serving in the great hall. Finding a safer place for me, the master had shuffled me off to the library and the greenhouse and that is where my learning truly began.

Safely away from heat sources, fragile objects and anything that could potentially pose the risk of misuse. I would do well to tell you that along with the hazards I posed to the aforementioned, I also would use things inappropriately. One time the master asked me to fetch him a pitcher of water. I moved with haste at his gentle request yet the water I attempted to serve him came directly from a flower vase and it spilled all over the table. I was relieved of cleaning the mess but the master never forgot and so my duties were lightened considerably thereafter.

As my garnet eyes, a most unusual shade, flicked over the slavers that had come to inspect us, I couldn’t help but to wonder what did they care what we looked like if we were going to be tending to the washing, the dusting and the tidying…? Yet, there was a peculiar interest nonetheless.

I kept my eyes downcast, refusing to meet anyone’s gaze. Still I somehow managed to meet this unspoken requirement and I was soon shuffled off to bathe and change into a maroon colored dress that reminded me of a Grecian gown I’d seen somewhere in one of the old master’s tomes. It was long and silky, a flowing gauzy style of fabric, though thin. It had a silver clasp at one shoulder where the fabric gathered leaving the other shoulder bare. I couldn’t help but to feel a sense of immodesty as I gazed at my appearance in the shattered looking glass in the small bath house. There was a belt made of silver cord with tiny bells on the ends that tied around the waist accentuating the natural hourglass shape of my hips and defining the underside of my breasts. Turning around I could see that even my backside was easily distinguished. The paleness of my skin was a stark contrast against this bold hue that my reflection afforded me a most striking appearance. I was not pleased…

We had been instructed to wash and style our hair. I looked over and watched as the other girls started to plait their hair and decided I had better follow suit. I gathered mine into sections and decided upon a crown style braid so as to conceal the length and luster of my red hair. There was pomade for our hair upon the counter and I dipped in heavy and applied it directly at the roots and carried it all the way down the hair shaft causing my hair to look several shades darker, dull and listless. It fell just below my buttocks and hung in long flowing waves naturally. But they would not see this, no. From the time I arrived at the slave mill I had taken great pains to conceal my beauty, my intelligence and most of all my abilities. Without needing to look at a mirror, I gathered my hair up and made quick work of it. A few wispy tendrils framed my face and slipped out at the nape of my neck. I turned my head from side to side making sure I was satisfied with it. I could hear the impatience of the slavers voices as they awaited our return for further evaluation.

A potted cactus angled off in the far corner of the bath house provided me just the right finishing touch. I turned and gathered some of the dried dirt as the other girls prepared to return to our guests and proceeded to apply it directly to the dress in various spots. I smudged some, mixing it with water and applied it carefully with the edge of my hand to my shoulder, arm, cheekbone, neck and a touch on my elbow for good measure.

Taking another glance into the mirror it would appear that I had fallen on my side with my elbow and hip absorbing the majority of the fall. I already had a bruise there from the day before so it conveniently played in to my guise.

There was one last item to collect before I returned; a small board with worn parchment along with a crude writing instrument was fitted with a leather strap for my neck. I slipped the board over my head and its length safely shielded from view the upper half of my cleavage. I needed this accessory to communicate with others. For most of my life I hid my voice and my penmanship was quite elegant but my mother had discouraged me and taught me instead to write poorly with misspellings aplenty. In all appearances, I was assumed to be simple of mind and lacking the ability to speak aside from the sounds of mewling, broken and distorted speech.

I swallowed and could feel the uncomfortable reminder of the now heavy iron collar round my neck. I detested its very presence. The others seemed to share my feelings and considered it a burden of outward stigma. For me, I’d never experienced a canvas collar much less the feel of leather around my neck; now to have the bulk of such an unflattering piece furthered my humiliation. ‘KMA’ was engraved into the piece. The slavers had told us it would be our new master’s name. Kelly MacAmbridge… I wanted to speak the name aloud so that I could remember it better, feel the words as they rolled over my tongue. To hear the inflections for there were three alone in the last name. But I dare not say a word…

I hurried back to join the others just in time before we were taken to the train depot. Outfitted in heavy shackles and chain, they had us to board soon after and before I knew it I could hear the sounds of the locomotive as the train began to advance forward. I sat quietly in my seat and gazed out the window watching the scenery as we departed Belfast. I was glad, glad to be far away from the slave mill, the poor conditions that I had come to know in the days I had been there. I shuddered inwardly at the thought of how long some of the others had been there.

During the trip we were warned that if our master didn’t find favor with us that we could face the potential of being sent away to work in the flour mills. From the whispers of the other slaves that I managed to overhear, I was able to gather that the supervisors took better care with us than from where we had come. I silently had to agree with this assessment.

As our journey unfolded before us my thoughts started to drift until I was in deep thought. I had an inquisitive nature and pondered what this new master would be like. What our specific jobs would be and the place where we would now reside. As I stole a glance around the boxcar it was apparent that the others were having similar questions.

Reaching our destination, we disembarked and it was then that I encountered the first weres I’d ever laid eyes on. I trembled where I stood and had to be nudged along by the others; though truthfully I felt as if my throat was constricted, my adrenaline racing as I struggled to process all the changes that were happening around me. The air felt different here, the very ground even. This new land they called Monaghan. I scented the air, tilting my head up a moment and then quickly dropping my gaze as I struggled to maneuver with the heavy shackles weighing me down. Did they really worry that we might try to bolt? I’d never seen so many guards at once. Like we were some sort of precious cargo or perhaps this was a dangerous area prone to attacks and they wanted to make certain to secure their master’s investment.

I really had no time to process the matter further for we were being shuffled along at a quick pace. Surely these guards had better things to do than look after defenseless human slaves. My eyes widened in a mixture of surprise and fear as a tall dragon approached. I shuddered where I stood for a long moment just processing…

Oh no I thought, he was part of this retinue! I pressed my lips into a hard line as I heard him urging us forth, “Keep in line now…” Then, “Two lines, please, backs straight…” I curled my shoulders inward with each step. Praying silently not to catch his attention, to blend…yes… blend Keely... blend… Another cautious step and then another, my feet felt rooted to the very ground. I didn’t want to go anywhere with them. In fact, I wanted to make a run for it. But the shackles prevented such movements, I would be lucky to get five steps ahead and just two steps from a “were” would be enough to overtake me. No… that wouldn’t end well at all…

The dragon’s words came back to me, “You will be presented to your new master shortly and you must make a good impression if you wish to be treated well.” I glanced ahead and then back at the others around me wondering how they were faring. They too were struggling. I let out half the breath I was holding in and proceeded to follow closely behind the one in front of me. Yet, I could not will myself to straighten my spine… in fact I wanted to curl even further. I took in another erratic breath and kept close to the slave in front of me; who was more like a shield than anything else now.

His words broke the tension once more, “Will those specially brought to be housekeepers please come forward? Right at the front, if you wouldn't mind." I shook visibly now with each step I took. The girl behind me had to support me or risk us all toppling over. Her arm was quick to go around my waist. As we neared the front of the line my teeth started to chatter and my stomach recoiled. The dragon was so large, looming over us practically. Did they breathe fire I wondered? For I had heard they did… Was it like acid-reflux or heartburn to a human?

Out of the corner of my eye I saw just enough of his claws; as he motioned where he wanted for us to stand. His very presence was unnerving. If not for the softness in his blue eyes I don’t think I would have been able to stand. Yet, when the weight of that gaze fell upon me, I dare say I nearly fainted. I dropped my eyes again, hoping he would look upon the two on either side of me. I wasn’t anything special… Didn’t he see the soil on my dress? The caked grime on my skin? The dull look of my hair? The clip board around my neck…?

No, whatever it was, I had captured his interest and it was like some inner strength fused and emboldened me in that moment… I met the dragon’s gaze with an acute sharpness, a flagrant and defiant meeting of the eyes for the briefest of seconds. Yes, I’m afraid that’s all the courage I had in me when he stood so close before me. My shoulders curled in but I would not tremble before him. My jaw set in a firm line; I forced my eyes to the ground and kept them there. My hands loose at my sides. Inwardly I was cursing at myself for such foolishness. Their senses were heightened; he no doubt saw it as brief as it had been I was certain then he had seen that knowing look well.

The great dragon paused to watch her a moment after their incredibly brief eye contact. He said nothing to her directly, though, and instead raised his great head to look them all over once more. He moved behind the group and they were ushered forward toward their new master's home. They learned, from the centaur up front, that MacAmbridge's home was called Monaghan Court, built into the renovated Monaghan Court Castle that MacAmbridge had bought when he'd returned from Georgia. It was an absolutely beauty of a place.

They approached a ring of forest, in the center of which was a grand old castle whose north and western sides were covered with vines, and the rest had moss here and there. Outside the ring of trees in the walled-off estate were potato fields neatly and precisely sectioned off with grassy rows, upon which sat what would become the homes of the fieldworkers. On the edge of the forest lay little homes that would most likely belong to the groundskeepers. And within the ring, outside the courtyard, lay almost a little town where MacAmbridge's fellows lived with their families on the grounds.

When they came to a halt in the walled, massive courtyard around the tall castle, they were stopped. The gates of the courtyard were closed, and the slave-drivers came through the ranks of new slaves and unshackled them all. As they did so, the gates opened again, and closed behind the entry of five werecreatures on horses. Two were types of great cat, and three were werewolves. But one drew everyone's eye. He was a mahogany werewolf who rode high like nobility, and his eyes were amber like clear resin, spotted with bits of blue.

This werewolf was dressed in a fine riding outfit with black breeches and a long tan jacket, beneath which lay a dark vest and white dress shirt. About his neck hung a leather cord and a pendant that was a silver crest of his family.

"Sir," one werecat spoke up, taking his horse's reins for him. The werewolf nodded to him and made his way up to the top of the steps to the castle's main door. He paused at the top and looked out over the slaves, considering them a moment especially the three women chosen as housekeepers. Without a word, he headed inside.

The dragon rounded to the front of the group. "I'm afraid Lord MacAmbridge is a tad busy to meet you all right now, but you'll do well to remember his face." So the mahogany werewolf had been him. The other four riders followed him inside, and soon a single white werecat, a tiger in fact, came outside.

"This," the dragon spoke up, motioning to the tiger, "is Mr. Abel Danforth. He is the head of the housekeepers and house-servants. You eight," he motioned to those specially chosen. "You will take training and direction from him."

Continuing, the dragon motioned a tough, tan centaur forward. "This is Mr. Kinsley Warwick, he is the head of the fields. And I," the dragon offered them a smile. "I am called Oranuin. I am the head groundskeeper, I work around the castle and town, my people are in charge of keeping everything looking acceptable and delivering things to and from the town. Now, if everyone will please split up to their respective groups. Fieldworkers near the gate, groundskeepers here with me, and housekeepers inside with Mr. Danforth."

Mr. Danforth motioned the front eight to follow him, bringing them to the entry parlor where he lined them up to look them over. Seven were absolutely fine to his eyes, but when he came to the last, he touched the board hung from her neck with an inquisitive look in his soft blue eyes. "What's this, dear?" he asked gently.

It felt as if the dragon’s eyes could pierce through and see into my very soul. Who knew of the powers weres had… I cleared my mind, thinking of a gentle trickling stream as it ran along a fine lop of trees with ample shade. I had to keep it together; I had to get my heart rate under control and fast. I suppose my fear was understandable but I’d already slipped up once; I didn’t want to do it again. Unnecessary attention was dangerous…

In seconds I was relieved as the intensity of that gaze lessened; stealing a peek I watched as the dragon’s attention reverted to the other slaves and me as a whole. It wasn’t long and he was behind us and ushering us forth. Silently I listened as the great centaur explained to us that the home we would now reside at was called Monaghan Court. He continued by sharing how it was acquired and later renovated.

As we approached I took in the magnificence of the place, its age showed in the stonework, the maturity of the trees and greenery. My eyes swept upwards as I took in the fortified structure. The creeping vines and carpets of green moss, the arched windows, higher still until I reached the horizon. As my eyes leveled once more, I took in the various structures; farmland and what appeared to be a village of some sort. I’d never before seen such an outward display of wealth and prosperity. It was so profound I had difficulty accepting the sight before me.

It wasn’t long before we reached what could only be a courtyard. That’s when we were stopped and the slavers came through and began the task of removing the weighted shackles from each of us. I rubbed my wrists and exchanged glances with the two girls to either side of me as ours were removed. My wrists were red from light abrasions. I reached up absently and clawed at my neck. Wincing at the chafing from the heavy iron. The collar was almost unbearable. It was difficult to turn my head, to rest comfortably, to look up or down. I silently wished for its removal…

Between the security gates and the weres that were present, they had nothing to concern themselves with any of us attempting escape. I frowned inwardly, feeling caged and helpless. To me it seemed staged; as if they did this deliberately in order to make a point. See… You can’t scale the wall and dash off into the night any more than you can breach the gate and go very far. It was all his… and now with the man’s initials around my neck I knew that I too belonged to him, his personal chattel. I seethed at this realization.

Hearing the grind of the metal gate opening once more, I was alerted to the bustle as five weres rode in, one standing apart from the rest of the entourage. There was little doubt given his stature. The confidence he exuded, the hubris and vigor were eye-catching. I watched the way he handled himself in the saddle, that loose hold on the reins of his mount. His coat and eyes reeked of menace. I shivered and felt my heart hammer harder in my chest. His presence didn’t only affect me but the two girls beside me. Absently we reached for each other’s hands and clasped them tightly together.

We watched in silent suspense as one werecat said, “Sir,” and then took the master’s reins. With graceful fluidity, the werewolf dismounted from his horse. With barely a passing glance at his newly acquired serfs, he strode into his home but not before the intensity of that gaze fell upon us; those assigned the role of housekeeper. Yes, it was brief yet I had noticed. There was no mistaking the interest there, no matter how slight.

The dragon’s voice broke the tense silence as he explained away his master’s hasty retreat. All the while I couldn’t help questioning that look. Hadn’t we been purchased for the sole intent of maintaining this ostentatious fortress?

Before I could mull the matter over further, the dragon’s voice seized my attention and it was there in his ominous words… “You'll do well to remember his face…” I didn’t think it possible to forget, not with that haughty air about him or his distinguished looks. I knew that I would have a difficult time being in his very presence. Just to breathe the same air as he would be a great feat unto itself.

Thankfully with my role as a fool, perhaps he would take his interests with one of the other two. Both of them were quite attractive and in all respect it seemed I was alone in my feelings for this new master. For while we were all fearful to a degree I still could detect their keen ambitions to gain his favor. This arrangement fit me just fine. A graceless simple minded human; I paled in comparison.

I registered the silent exchange between the two girls, observing the careful way they sized each other up. Both were already formulating ideas for the betterment of self-perseverance. It was telling in the dilation of the pupil, the way they wet their tongues and smiled at each other as they subconsciously stood with a bit more air and pride thrusting their chests forward, then up and placing a hand on hip. Yes, let them take his fancy. That would leave me free then to peruse his library at my leisure. Perhaps wander out into one of the many gardens I was sure he had and with any luck a greenhouse I could steal myself away to.

Reading wasn’t the same as application. I couldn’t master my skill without it. I had managed to commit to memory a copious amount of recipes yet there were so many plants and herbs I had yet to discover. I needed to learn about the benefits of these findings and with any luck I’d be able to treat any number of ailments. Treatments were expensive and oftentimes the remedies weren’t effective, that was because there wasn’t a lot of information out there to go on. Healers were quite rare. As a result of this I wanted to learn in order to become a strong healer, like my mother and grandmother before me.

Somewhere in the Greyson line a human had taken an elf as a lover. This is partly the reason we were so well versed in the arts, for they came easily to us. Much too easily in fact, like blinking an eye, it was second nature for us. We too had the ability of empathy; keener emotions, able to read the feelings of others. We weren’t telepaths or mind readers. It was more or less a survival instinct of sorts, a means to help aid us as we maneuvered the minefield of this world with a bit more awareness than others.

This particular elf had been harmonious with nature; flora and greenery were his specialty and was known to boast of having green fingers… That wasn’t all; in the short time he was with this woman he had taught her many of these recipes. However as we were separated by the generations fewer and fewer of those recipes were passed on. It was like a book being separated into many parts with each group having a few pages. All was not lost though, for you see our internal understanding was there… just waiting to be harnessed.

Yet being a descendant of the Greyson line had its shortcomings. I was slower to heal than most humans. I tired easily and was prone to dehydration, anemia, blacking out, and in some rare cases memory loss. Prolonged amounts of direct sunlight also plagued me.

The Greyson line had thankfully become so obscure over the last hundred years that not many would know how to identify one of us. Yet there was one way, one in which I hoped had been only whispered about and never documented. Still I did not know, that was the other reason for my interest in the master’s books. Anytime I cut myself the faintest of veins that looked like vines would appear near the wound. It had to be by my hand for those to show. Otherwise the cuts received would look ordinary to any other. Along with this ability I didn’t scar. That was a relief because if I did, I could imagine the reminders that my body would bear. We were sensitive to drink and smoke, fat and salt for obvious reasons.

My eyes followed after the four weres that followed the master inside. Shortly after a white weretiger walked out and approached us. The dragon motioned towards him and then a centaur, dispensing with the introductions and their respected stations of authority.

So we were appointed to Mr. Danforth… I mentally made note of it as I silently followed after the girl in front of me. It wasn’t long before we were led inside and while this was only the entry it alone conveyed what awaited us past the threshold. I quietly watched as Mr. Danforth began the task of sizing us up. No doubt he was deciding which tasks to assign to each of us. I lowered my eyes and trembled where I stood, wishing to be anywhere but beneath the scrutiny of that gaze. Please continue on… please walk past…. I silently wished. He made one pass and I started to relax and glanced up. How unfortunate for me then, as he neared, the curiosity getting the better of him no doubt.

I shuddered inwardly as that big paw came up and I thought for sure he was going to lift my chin but instead, he surprised me by touching the board that hung from my neck. His voice was soft. I dare say I wanted to blurt out my reply then and there… but all the internal warnings were signaling… With a shaky hand, I attempted to collect the writing instrument and it fell making a soft thud against the board. Turning my gaze from the intensity of Mr. Danforth’s gentle blue eyes I scribbled out in chicken scratch simply, “comoonicate” knowing full well I had misspelled it. I didn’t meet his eyes again but instead dropped them to the floor and held tight to the breath in my lungs, my hands loose at my sides trembling in wait….

He tilted his head slightly. Was it concern on his face? "You can't speak at all, dear? I imagine you'd have a lovely voice..." He reached up and unfastened the leather that held the board. "I'm going to teach you sign language if you can't speak. Enough people around here know it for it to be useful. You see, we have a lovely old bear who works in the back garden who is deaf. I may even have you work with him now and then." He took the board and the chalk. "I'll add a strap to this so you can carry it about your waist, maybe a bit of a satchel. It's a shame to have to wear this and a collar. Shame to wear a collar, really..." He sighed and shook his head, "You housekeepers will receive something much more flattering as soon as they're finished by our resident blacksmith."

He brought them next down into the basement where their living quarters were. All three would live in the same room, but it was almost luxurious to them because they each had their own small bed and two good blankets and a pillow each. Danforth's room was connected to theirs, and he showed them to it. It was mostly a lovely study with all manner of interesting books that proved Danforth to be a man of nature. He had his own bed nestled in a corner. He welcomed them to come in during the evenings if they needed him.

After the tour, Danforth let the other two women go to acquaint themselves with the grounds about the house. But he kept Keely, pulling up an extra chair for her to sit down with him at his desk whilst he began writing a request for a small satchel from town for her. "Tell me, dear," he spoke up softly, moving her board in front of her with the chalk. "What's your name?"

I watched him think on the matter a moment and with that I let go of the breath I’d been holding. I had expected anger, not what came next. In that same reassuring tone Mr. Danforth asked, “You can't speak at all, dear? I imagine you'd have a lovely voice..." I met his eyes and shook my head from side to side. I started to drop my eyes again for I didn’t like lying to him. It was then that he removed the board from round my neck. I watched him, my mouth slack, what was he doing? My eyes only widened as he continued, “I'm going to teach you sign language if you can't speak. Enough people around here know it for it to be useful. You see, we have a lovely old bear who works in the back garden who is deaf. I may even have you work with him now and then."

I won’t deny that I was taken aback… Sign language? Oh no… I had never thought of that! Still… it could give me a measure of leniency in regards to work. I would much rather be learning than doing mindless chores any day. I listened as he went on to share with me about the bear and the moment Mr. Danforth mentioned garden, I instantly brightened. I reached for his paw and nodded enthusiastically. When I realized what I’d done, I dropped my hands and a strong blush hit my cheeks. We weren’t supposed to touch anyone… I chewed my lip a long moment but he was there, taking the board and chalk from me.

Mr. Danforth continued, "I'll add a strap to this so you can carry it about your waist, maybe a bit of a satchel. It's a shame to have to wear this and a collar. Shame to wear a collar, really..." Silently I agreed with him but I knew better than to outwardly acknowledge this. I nodded after him as he shared his ideas for the strap. Then Mr. Danforth spoke up to the three of us, "You housekeepers will receive something much more flattering as soon as they're finished by our resident blacksmith." This was good news, I hated the collar. Someone better pinch me I thought, for this must be a dream…

It wasn’t long and we were guided down into the basement of the great estate and shown our living quarters. I looked about the room, it was warm, clean and the furnishings were of quality. I touched the mattress and it didn’t sink but instead remained firm under the weight of my hand. The textiles were thick and heavy and the pillows were plump and clean. Yes these were far better accommodations than what we had received at the slave mill. There we were lucky if we were given a mat, thin threadbare blankets, and tattered sheets. Pillows had been a luxury they could ill afford.

I especially liked that Mr. Danforth was so close by. I felt safe knowing he was there. I decided that I liked him immediately.

He led us into his bed chamber to show us that he was available should we need him. If not for the bed I would have mistaken it for a study. While there I couldn’t help but notice his collection of books. Oh how my fingers ached to reach for one, to see if they had illustrations. As the other two girls followed after him, I remained there reading over the titles of those leather-bound tomes a moment longer.

I was surprised when he dismissed the other two girls, insisting that they continue their tour of the grounds and estate. I looked over at him quietly and watched as he pulled up a chair and motioned for me to take a seat. I did so, quietly kicking my feet beneath the chair absently. Chewing on the inside of my cheek as my eyes scanned over the various things upon his desk. He had withdrawn a piece of parchment and was busy scrawling in long hand some document or other. I didn’t wish to be rude so I refrained from reading it though I could have easily enough. I continued to look about the room feeling oddly at peace. His voice though quite, broke my silent survey of the place. "Tell me, dear," he spoke up softly, "What's your name?"

I picked up the chalk and scratched out my name for him, “Keely.” Then setting the chalk down I placed my hands into my lap and stilled my feet. A little flurry of butterflies had formed in my gut.

"Keely..." he spoke her name in a lovely warm tone. "It suits you well." He offered her a smile. Why were people like him so uncommon? "I think you and I are going to get along just fine."

He sat back in his chair as he finished the letter and folded it up to slip into his breast pocket. "I can't tell you how long it's been since I've met a human who could write. In fact, the last one I knew was my mother." He was one of the lucky sons of werewolf and slave who ended up born as a wolf. Perhaps he had some human siblings who weren't so lucky.

He rifled in his desk a moment, finding a small book therein that was written neatly in his own handwriting. It was a book of sign language, teaching letters and simple signs that could be understood on paper. The rest had to be taught be someone who knew what they were doing, and couldn't be illustrated. "Here, keep this with you," he took her hand and pressed the booklet into her palm. He didn't mind a touch at all, and now that she knew his mother had been human it wasn't so strange. "Start learning your letters and a couple words, and I'm sure we'll make good progress."

That evening was as much a welcome oddity as the living quarters. The slaves received real food rather than mush and questionable cold stew and they received enough for many of them to feel satisfied, though not completely full. Danforth informed them that they would receive more on workdays, but on Sundays they would not work and therefore eat a bit less as they were all expected to be good Christians. Most of the slaves had given up on God long ago, but this new, fair home seemed to prove He existed. Sunday was reserved for a mass of the slaves that Danforth himself would preside over as he was an ordained minister. However, Lord MacAmbridge most likely would have nothing to do with it. He simply didn't care for matters of faith, but he allowed the Sunday off for his workmen and for the sake of keeping his slaves happy and working hard.

Already, a great many slaves were singing Kelly's praises, but more so Mr. Danforth and the kind dragon. The centaurs were tough things, but they weren't cruel thus far.

It felt as if the dragon’s eyes could pierce through and see into my very soul. Who knew of the powers weres had… I cleared my mind, thinking of a gentle trickling stream as it ran along a fine lop of trees with ample shade. I had to keep it together; I had to get my heart rate under control and fast. I suppose my fear was understandable but I’d already slipped up once; I didn’t want to do it again. Unnecessary attention was dangerous…

In seconds I was relieved as the intensity of that gaze lessened; stealing a peek I watched as the dragon’s attention reverted to the other slaves and me as a whole. It wasn’t long and he was behind us and ushering us forth. Silently I listened as the great centaur explained to us that the home we would now reside at was called Monaghan Court. He continued by sharing how it was acquired and later renovated.

As we approached I took in the magnificence of the place, its age showed in the stonework, the maturity of the trees and greenery. My eyes swept upwards as I took in the fortified structure. The creeping vines and carpets of green moss, the arched windows, higher still until I reached the horizon. As my eyes leveled once more, I took in the various structures; farmland and what appeared to be a village of some sort. I’d never before seen such an outward display of wealth and prosperity. It was so profound I had difficulty accepting the sight before me.

It wasn’t long before we reached what could only be a courtyard. That’s when we were stopped and the slavers came through and began the task of removing the weighted shackles from each of us. I rubbed my wrists and exchanged glances with the two girls to either side of me as ours were removed. My wrists were red from light abrasions. I reached up absently and clawed at my neck. Wincing at the chafing from the heavy iron. The collar was almost unbearable. It was difficult to turn my head, to rest comfortably, to look up or down. I silently wished for its removal…

Between the security gates and the weres that were present, they had nothing to concern themselves with any of us attempting escape. I frowned inwardly, feeling caged and helpless. To me it seemed staged; as if they did this deliberately in order to make a point. See… You can’t scale the wall and dash off into the night any more than you can breach the gate and go very far. It was all his… and now with the man’s initials around my neck I knew that I too belonged to him, his personal chattel. I seethed at this realization.

Hearing the grind of the metal gate opening once more, I was alerted to the bustle as five weres rode in, one standing apart from the rest of the entourage. There was little doubt given his stature. The confidence he exuded, the hubris and vigor were eye-catching. I watched the way he handled himself in the saddle, that loose hold on the reins of his mount. His coat and eyes reeked of menace. I shivered and felt my heart hammer harder in my chest. His presence didn’t only affect me but the two girls beside me. Absently we reached for each other’s hands and clasped them tightly together.

We watched in silent suspense as one werecat said, “Sir,” and then took the master’s reins. With graceful fluidity, the werewolf dismounted from his horse. With barely a passing glance at his newly acquired serfs, he strode into his home but not before the intensity of that gaze fell upon us; those assigned the role of housekeeper. Yes, it was brief yet I had noticed. There was no mistaking the interest there, no matter how slight.

The dragon’s voice broke the tense silence as he explained away his master’s hasty retreat. All the while I couldn’t help questioning that look. Hadn’t we been purchased for the sole intent of maintaining this ostentatious fortress?

Before I could mull the matter over further, the dragon’s voice seized my attention and it was there in his ominous words… “You'll do well to remember his face…” I didn’t think it possible to forget, not with that haughty air about him or his distinguished looks. I knew that I would have a difficult time being in his very presence. Just to breathe the same air as he would be a great feat unto itself.

Thankfully with my role as a fool, perhaps he would take his interests with one of the other two. Both of them were quite attractive and in all respect it seemed I was alone in my feelings for this new master. For while we were all fearful to a degree I still could detect their keen ambitions to gain his favor. This arrangement fit me just fine. A graceless simple minded human; I paled in comparison.

I registered the silent exchange between the two girls, observing the careful way they sized each other up. Both were already formulating ideas for the betterment of self-perseverance. It was telling in the dilation of the pupil, the way they wet their tongues and smiled at each other as they subconsciously stood with a bit more air and pride thrusting their chests forward, then up and placing a hand on hip. Yes, let them take his fancy. That would leave me free then to peruse his library at my leisure. Perhaps wander out into one of the many gardens I was sure he had and with any luck a greenhouse I could steal myself away to.

Reading wasn’t the same as application. I couldn’t master my skill without it. I had managed to commit to memory a copious amount of recipes yet there were so many plants and herbs I had yet to discover. I needed to learn about the benefits of these findings and with any luck I’d be able to treat any number of ailments. Treatments were expensive and oftentimes the remedies weren’t effective, that was because there wasn’t a lot of information out there to go on. Healers were quite rare. As a result of this I wanted to learn in order to become a strong healer, like my mother and grandmother before me.

Somewhere in the Greyson line a human had taken an elf as a lover. This is partly the reason we were so well versed in the arts, for they came easily to us. Much too easily in fact, like blinking an eye, it was second nature for us. We too had the ability of empathy; keener emotions, able to read the feelings of others. We weren’t telepaths or mind readers. It was more or less a survival instinct of sorts, a means to help aid us as we maneuvered the minefield of this world with a bit more awareness than others.

This particular elf had been harmonious with nature; flora and greenery were his specialty and was known to boast of having green fingers… That wasn’t all; in the short time he was with this woman he had taught her many of these recipes. However as we were separated by the generations fewer and fewer of those recipes were passed on. It was like a book being separated into many parts with each group having a few pages. All was not lost though, for you see our internal understanding was there… just waiting to be harnessed.

Yet being a descendant of the Greyson line had its shortcomings. I was slower to heal than most humans. I tired easily and was prone to dehydration, anemia, blacking out, and in some rare cases memory loss. Prolonged amounts of direct sunlight also plagued me.

The Greyson line had thankfully become so obscure over the last hundred years that not many would know how to identify one of us. Yet there was one way, one in which I hoped had been only whispered about and never documented. Still I did not know, that was the other reason for my interest in the master’s books. Anytime I cut myself the faintest of veins that looked like vines would appear near the wound. It had to be by my hand for those to show. Otherwise the cuts received would look ordinary to any other. Along with this ability I didn’t scar. That was a relief because if I did, I could imagine the reminders that my body would bear. We were sensitive to drink and smoke, fat and salt for obvious reasons.

My eyes followed after the four weres that followed the master inside. Shortly after a white weretiger walked out and approached us. The dragon motioned towards him and then a centaur, dispensing with the introductions and their respected stations of authority.

So we were appointed to Mr. Danforth… I mentally made note of it as I silently followed after the girl in front of me. It wasn’t long before we were led inside and while this was only the entry it alone conveyed what awaited us past the threshold. I quietly watched as Mr. Danforth began the task of sizing us up. No doubt he was deciding which tasks to assign to each of us. I lowered my eyes and trembled where I stood, wishing to be anywhere but beneath the scrutiny of that gaze. Please continue on… please walk past…. I silently wished. He made one pass and I started to relax and glanced up. How unfortunate for me then, as he neared, the curiosity getting the better of him no doubt.

I shuddered inwardly as that big paw came up and I thought for sure he was going to lift my chin but instead, he surprised me by touching the board that hung from my neck. His voice was soft. I dare say I wanted to blurt out my reply then and there… but all the internal warnings were signaling… With a shaky hand, I attempted to collect the writing instrument and it fell making a soft thud against the board. Turning my gaze from the intensity of Mr. Danforth’s gentle blue eyes I scribbled out in chicken scratch simply, “comoonicate” knowing full well I had misspelled it. I didn’t meet his eyes again but instead dropped them to the floor and held tight to the breath in my lungs, my hands loose at my sides trembling in wait….

The next morning, everyone rose at the same time from the toll of a bell in the church within the grounds near the werecreature workers' homes. The new day was clear and beautiful, and many of the slaves found it wasn't so hard to get up this morning to work. The fieldworkers were a little bit wary of their supervisors thanks to their hard appearance and, it seemed, lack of care for humans. But they didn't dole out punishment for no reason so all was kept in balance.

The castle's newest keepers had a long day of learning ahead of them, but Danforth handed Keely over to the deaf bear who worked in the garden. Leading her outside after breakfast, Danforth paused behind the bear who was busily working away and seemed not to notice them. But Danforth smiled, "He knows we're here. What he can't hear, he can feel in the earth."

As if to prove him right, the bear spoke up with a slightly deaf accent, but clear enough: "Are ya gonna stand there an' talk about me or introduce me to th'new lass?" His accent was clearly Scottish. He rose, wiping his half-paw hands on a towel that hung from his belt. His hands had leathery pad-like palms, but they were distinctly partially human too, unlike the others werecreatures whose hands were fully human except for the fur covering them. He had bear claws, but they were shortened and dull and looked rather useful for digging. His species suited his profession well.

"This is Keely, she's a new housekeeper," Danforth spoke aloud as he signed the words to the bear. Then he looked to Keely, "This is Mr. Abshire Cain. Most people around here call him Abbey or Mr. Abbey. He prefers it that way."

The old bear smiled, his great furry face warm and welcoming. "Hallo, darlin'."

"Now, Miss Keely doesn't speak, Abbey, so we're going to teach her sign language."

"Soun's just fine to me. Y'know, I always say I'm dear because Danforth talked my ears t'death," Abbey rumbled and laughed, at which Danforth rolled his eyes.

"Old brute. Now you be nice to her."

"Pah, rack off, I'll take care of 'er." Abbey smiled and laid a hand on Keely's arm. "C'mere, I'll show ya what ol' Kelly keeps me around for."

I’d never been to Monaghan. Of course I’d never been anywhere before. Why was I here, you ask? I was sent over to the slave mill shortly after my owner passed away. He had no sons, no heirs. So all of his great wealth and lands he bequeathed to some charity or other and they had no use for slaves. Where did that leave me? At a slave mill in Belfast, a rotten place. Dingy and unkempt, barely any food or clean water; the rats were fed better. I came unmarked as my previous owner had never felt it important to brand me nor my mother or her mother before that. Thankfully there were no tears to be shed for my mother had passed several years ago and I never did meet my father.

As the supervisors came in to inspect us one morning for purchase, I couldn’t help but notice the slaves they seemed most interested in. Strong strapping males, able-bodied females and naturally there was some importance on appearances. My owner had taken care of me; I was never beaten or mistreated, I received a proper education and was allowed to freely aid my mother in homemade remedies. It was a skill passed down from my grandmother and her mother before her. You see while we were human, my family originally came from the nobility. We were prized stock as they would say. Gifted in the arts, such as painting, singing, poetry, writing, dancing, scribing, apothecary…

Yes, highly sought after, highly valued. Yet one of my ancestors had crossed the line; too bold for his station, he took it upon himself to steal from his master and his treachery was discovered shortly after. It was horrible for not only him but our entire lineage. We were cast out, shunned. The nobles grew wary of placing such trust and power into the hands of mere servants.

We were sold off to the middleclass families, if we were lucky, some of us were given away. We were spread out, some taken overseas, many of us scattered about the neighboring villages. As the years passed, they moved us even father from each other. The rumors spread, trickling down into the middleclass about our family line and with it a grave warning; don’t trust the Greyson slaves. If you own one, sell or destroy it… From there, our lines weakened significantly as we were scattered and sold farther and farther away never to see each other again.

For us, we had to survive. That meant changing our last name. When a new owner would buy us and they would ask us for our name we’d give another so that we could hopefully save ourselves from the imminent loss of value. It was dangerous to be owned by the lesser classes; we were at risk of torture, mistreatment, hark labor like the plow instead of embracing our gifts as the true artisans we were. The lower classes didn’t need you to dance unless they owned such a venue save for prostituting you out into the streets. What good was your voice? The ability to write beautiful prose? Worthless… Utterly worthless…

Thankfully the master that had bought my grandmother had an eye for beauty as well as a gentle nature about him. He widowed early and sought the affection of a companion. My grandmother became his private consort and he cared very deeply for her. My mother was a direct product from their secret union. The master had been a wealthy man with significant holdings and so we were fed and clothed well. We had small quarters right inside the main house.

We were safe yet we could never let our guard down. My grandmother had been right to conceal our secret; for while there were far fewer Greyson slaves about these days the threat still existed. Anyone known to own one from our lineage was frowned upon in society and outwardly criticized. Our master had been a tender soul and the risk was far too great. And so I was taught the art of concealment.

I was far more lithe and graceful than the other girls in the manor I grew up in. So in order to alleviate myself of several menial duties, I refined a carefully practiced technique of inept movements so much so that I wasn’t allowed near the kitchens. Coincidentally I was also excused from serving in the great hall. Finding a safer place for me, the master had shuffled me off to the library and the greenhouse and that is where my learning truly began.

Safely away from heat sources, fragile objects and anything that could potentially pose the risk of misuse. I would do well to tell you that along with the hazards I posed to the aforementioned, I also would use things inappropriately. One time the master asked me to fetch him a pitcher of water. I moved with haste at his gentle request yet the water I attempted to serve him came directly from a flower vase and it spilled all over the table. I was relieved of cleaning the mess but the master never forgot and so my duties were lightened considerably thereafter.

As my garnet eyes, a most unusual shade, flicked over the slavers that had come to inspect us, I couldn’t help but to wonder what did they care what we looked like if we were going to be tending to the washing, the dusting and the tidying…? Yet, there was a peculiar interest nonetheless.

I kept my eyes downcast, refusing to meet anyone’s gaze. Still I somehow managed to meet this unspoken requirement and I was soon shuffled off to bathe and change into a maroon colored dress that reminded me of a Grecian gown I’d seen somewhere in one of the old master’s tomes. It was long and silky, a flowing gauzy style of fabric, though thin. It had a silver clasp at one shoulder where the fabric gathered leaving the other shoulder bare. I couldn’t help but to feel a sense of immodesty as I gazed at my appearance in the shattered looking glass in the small bath house. There was a belt made of silver cord with tiny bells on the ends that tied around the waist accentuating the natural hourglass shape of my hips and defining the underside of my breasts. Turning around I could see that even my backside was easily distinguished. The paleness of my skin was a stark contrast against this bold hue that my reflection afforded me a most striking appearance. I was not pleased…

We had been instructed to wash and style our hair. I looked over and watched as the other girls started to plait their hair and decided I had better follow suit. I gathered mine into sections and decided upon a crown style braid so as to conceal the length and luster of my red hair. There was pomade for our hair upon the counter and I dipped in heavy and applied it directly at the roots and carried it all the way down the hair shaft causing my hair to look several shades darker, dull and listless. It fell just below my buttocks and hung in long flowing waves naturally. But they would not see this, no. From the time I arrived at the slave mill I had taken great pains to conceal my beauty, my intelligence and most of all my abilities. Without needing to look at a mirror, I gathered my hair up and made quick work of it. A few wispy tendrils framed my face and slipped out at the nape of my neck. I turned my head from side to side making sure I was satisfied with it. I could hear the impatience of the slavers voices as they awaited our return for further evaluation.

A potted cactus angled off in the far corner of the bath house provided me just the right finishing touch. I turned and gathered some of the dried dirt as the other girls prepared to return to our guests and proceeded to apply it directly to the dress in various spots. I smudged some, mixing it with water and applied it carefully with the edge of my hand to my shoulder, arm, cheekbone, neck and a touch on my elbow for good measure.

Taking another glance into the mirror it would appear that I had fallen on my side with my elbow and hip absorbing the majority of the fall. I already had a bruise there from the day before so it conveniently played in to my guise.

There was one last item to collect before I returned; a small board with worn parchment along with a crude writing instrument was fitted with a leather strap for my neck. I slipped the board over my head and its length safely shielded from view the upper half of my cleavage. I needed this accessory to communicate with others. For most of my life I hid my voice and my penmanship was quite elegant but my mother had discouraged me and taught me instead to write poorly with misspellings aplenty. In all appearances, I was assumed to be simple of mind and lacking the ability to speak aside from the sounds of mewling, broken and distorted speech.

I swallowed and could feel the uncomfortable reminder of the now heavy iron collar round my neck. I detested its very presence. The others seemed to share my feelings and considered it a burden of outward stigma. For me, I’d never experienced a canvas collar much less the feel of leather around my neck; now to have the bulk of such an unflattering piece furthered my humiliation. ‘KMA’ was engraved into the piece. The slavers had told us it would be our new master’s name. Kelly MacAmbridge… I wanted to speak the name aloud so that I could remember it better, feel the words as they rolled over my tongue. To hear the inflections for there were three alone in the last name. But I dare not say a word…

I hurried back to join the others just in time before we were taken to the train depot. Outfitted in heavy shackles and chain, they had us to board soon after and before I knew it I could hear the sounds of the locomotive as the train began to advance forward. I sat quietly in my seat and gazed out the window watching the scenery as we departed Belfast. I was glad, glad to be far away from the slave mill, the poor conditions that I had come to know in the days I had been there. I shuddered inwardly at the thought of how long some of the others had been there.

During the trip we were warned that if our master didn’t find favor with us that we could face the potential of being sent away to work in the flour mills. From the whispers of the other slaves that I managed to overhear, I was able to gather that the supervisors took better care with us than from where we had come. I silently had to agree with this assessment.

As our journey unfolded before us my thoughts started to drift until I was in deep thought. I had an inquisitive nature and pondered what this new master would be like. What our specific jobs would be and the place where we would now reside. As I stole a glance around the boxcar it was apparent that the others were having similar questions.

Reaching our destination, we disembarked and it was then that I encountered the first weres I’d ever laid eyes on. I trembled where I stood and had to be nudged along by the others; though truthfully I felt as if my throat was constricted, my adrenaline racing as I struggled to process all the changes that were happening around me. The air felt different here, the very ground even. This new land they called Monaghan. I scented the air, tilting my head up a moment and then quickly dropping my gaze as I struggled to maneuver with the heavy shackles weighing me down. Did they really worry that we might try to bolt? I’d never seen so many guards at once. Like we were some sort of precious cargo or perhaps this was a dangerous area prone to attacks and they wanted to make certain to secure their master’s investment.

I really had no time to process the matter further for we were being shuffled along at a quick pace. Surely these guards had better things to do than look after defenseless human slaves. My eyes widened in a mixture of surprise and fear as a tall dragon approached. I shuddered where I stood for a long moment just processing…

Oh no I thought, he was part of this retinue! I pressed my lips into a hard line as I heard him urging us forth, “Keep in line now…” Then, “Two lines, please, backs straight…” I curled my shoulders inward with each step. Praying silently not to catch his attention, to blend…yes… blend Keely... blend… Another cautious step and then another, my feet felt rooted to the very ground. I didn’t want to go anywhere with them. In fact, I wanted to make a run for it. But the shackles prevented such movements, I would be lucky to get five steps ahead and just two steps from a “were” would be enough to overtake me. No… that wouldn’t end well at all…

The dragon’s words came back to me, “You will be presented to your new master shortly and you must make a good impression if you wish to be treated well.” I glanced ahead and then back at the others around me wondering how they were faring. They too were struggling. I let out half the breath I was holding in and proceeded to follow closely behind the one in front of me. Yet, I could not will myself to straighten my spine… in fact I wanted to curl even further. I took in another erratic breath and kept close to the slave in front of me; who was more like a shield than anything else now.

His words broke the tension once more, “Will those specially brought to be housekeepers please come forward? Right at the front, if you wouldn't mind." I shook visibly now with each step I took. The girl behind me had to support me or risk us all toppling over. Her arm was quick to go around my waist. As we neared the front of the line my teeth started to chatter and my stomach recoiled. The dragon was so large, looming over us practically. Did they breathe fire I wondered? For I had heard they did… Was it like acid-reflux or heartburn to a human?

Out of the corner of my eye I saw just enough of his claws; as he motioned where he wanted for us to stand. His very presence was unnerving. If not for the softness in his blue eyes I don’t think I would have been able to stand. Yet, when the weight of that gaze fell upon me, I dare say I nearly fainted. I dropped my eyes again, hoping he would look upon the two on either side of me. I wasn’t anything special… Didn’t he see the soil on my dress? The caked grime on my skin? The dull look of my hair? The clip board around my neck…?

No, whatever it was, I had captured his interest and it was like some inner strength fused and emboldened me in that moment… I met the dragon’s gaze with an acute sharpness, a flagrant and defiant meeting of the eyes for the briefest of seconds. Yes, I’m afraid that’s all the courage I had in me when he stood so close before me. My shoulders curled in but I would not tremble before him. My jaw set in a firm line; I forced my eyes to the ground and kept them there. My hands loose at my sides. Inwardly I was cursing at myself for such foolishness. Their senses were heightened; he no doubt saw it as brief as it had been I was certain then he had seen that knowing look well.