NOW LIVE! Today's the day you meet your new best friend. You don’t have to leave Wolfy behind... In 'Pets & Sidekicks' your companions level up with you!

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Message: <blockquote data-quote="Shayuri" data-source="post: 5301550" data-attributes="member: 4936">Amica was in the Moment. In the Moment she made food. The ingredients she was provided with were substandard. She strained weevils out of the flour before making the bread, making sure that none remained. The water was cloudy, but she let it stand before using it, so the sediments sank to the bottom. In the Moment one used what one had, without regret for lacking better. In the Moment she was a creature without a history to miss and without a future to hope for. In the Moment, she could find peace...even something akin to happiness.She saved scraps of special things sometimes...sugar, or spices most often. Then when she had enough, she would add some to the day's meal, as a pleasant surprise for the others. It had occurred to her that she could probably send messages by arranging food, or writing small messages in food, but so far she had no contacts among the larger society of slaves, and she didn't want to tip that hand too early.Each idea she had was catalogued as neatly, hidden as effectively, as her little stash of good tastes. Their time would come. The masters of the camp mistook her passivity in the Moment as the mark of a broken, compliant soul. This too suited her purpose.There was a push of wind against her thin, slave's dress...hot, dry wind from outside. Amica glanced over her shoulder and saw guards escorting the strange, pale elf into the tent. He was one of the few slaves she had regular contact with other than the other kitchen slaves...but she still had no idea what he did, or why he was treated differently.The fear of the guards of their charge pounded in her temples like a sandstorm's winds as she approached with a bowl for him. He was blindfolded. He always was. Amica wondered what he'd done that singled him out for such precautions...yet was not so dire as to warrant summary execution.She did not speak. She hadn't since she'd arrived. It suited her for them to believe she was mute, despite the hurts she'd endured as they'd tested her. A mute slave could not speak of what she'd seen, could not pass on overheard secrets. A mute slave was...safer...than most. To signal the elf-thing that it was time to be fed, she simply touched his cheek, near the corner of his mouth. She then carefully put the wooden spoon into his mouth and let him take the food off of it. When he pushed it with his tongue, she removed it and the cycle started over. It was a simple rhythm, established through some occasionally messy trial and error, now memorized as elegantly as any dance before a sorceror-king's court.Maybe it was that dance they shared, or the strangeness of the elf which was an echo of her own strangeness, but Amica felt a peculiar kinship to this pale, proud being. And though there was nothing to distinguish this day from any of the other days, no alignment of stars, no rumblings of discontent to be harnessed and used, that was the Moment Amica decided to make herself known, if only to one other. She waited until he'd swallowed his bite, then reached out with a silent thought...And Zinmo 'heard' in the stillness of his mind words that did not come him his own thoughts. Words that said, Don't let them see you react. I'm Amica. I just gave you your food. Who are you?</blockquote>

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