<br/><div class="floatleft">(https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/02/cc/7d/02cc7dd8e0d76469ac60fd12421d4095.jpg)</div><hr/><strong>N’ebthe:</strong><br/><strong>Race/Culture:</strong>Nefasi<br/><strong>Location:</strong>Slave piers<br/><strong>Day/Time:</strong>Yaus al-Niwt (Day of Houses), Amt (first month) of Alak Paret (Harvest Season), Mid-Morning<br/><strong>Tagged:</strong>Zidir, Ilhan<br/><hr/><br/><br/>No, slaves were not to touch lest they were asked too. Slaves were not to<i>speak</i>lest they were asked too. Slaves weren't even supposed to make eye contact as a show of their obedient submission. Yet here she was reading they grey of his eyes as her slender fingers mapped out his features. She traced up the curve of his jaw all the way up past the hinge, delicately settling upon that spot beneath his lobes. Four silken digits traced like feathers along his neck, then back into his long dark hair. The spirits spoke to her but she was no fortune teller nor mind reader. She knew well enough of what his told her, it did not even have to speak of its transparency to her, but the iron clad mask he left over his mind was something she looked forward to peeking past in the future.<br/><br/>She released him once he directed his attention to the man that currently held her 'deed' and remained silent for as long as they spoke amongst one another. She did not resist as she was turned and guided towards the storage facility he held behind them and seemed deeply lost in thought at that point. Was this the man she'd been waiting for? Was it for him that she turned her nose to any other? Already her soul felt aflutter but it was an excitement often hard to read. She hadn't felt this excited in quite some time. It felt new and fresh, like an adventure she needed to experience - a treasure map she needed to sell as a meager sketch to Zidir. She did not need him to realize the worth of this transaction to herself or this promising patron.<br/><br/><br/>