The dryad's head moves, nodding as she sucks on her swollen lower lip and then forces herself to draw a slow breath.  Her trembling hands take the knife and she shivers a little.  The ritual is familiar enough that it is strangely soothing in its familiarity.  The pain will come tomorrow even if she does not obey.  Mistress has many other knives that she could use in place of this one... or even fire.  The dryad's fear of fire is overwhelming and her Mistress knows this.  The one time Brom teased her with a candle she was hysterical for the rest of the night, and Mistress held her as she trembled like a child.  The dryad knows that even though Naiobe comforted and soothed her that her Mistress would not hesitate to use her greatest fear against her if she provoked her.<br/><br/>But as long as she is good that threat lies unspoken.  The blade is cleaned of her tree's sap and sharpened quickly.  The spirit woman even smiles a little in pride at how skillful she's become at this task as she examines the blade.  Then it is laid in it's proper place at her tree's base.  She pauses a moment to trace the mark etched day after day into the bark, the perpetually open wound upon her tree.  She can feel it always, a constant dull throb to remind her that she belongs to her Mistress.  Her hand moves to touch the shoulder that bears the same mark, carried over across the bond from her tree to her skin to scar her with Naiobe's mark so the others know that she's protected.  The others would hurt her more... wouldn't be gentle with her when their hunger was satisfied with her pain.<br/><br/>Shaking herself from her thoughts before she lingers too long, the dryad crawls to the wardrobe to kneel and await her Mistress as commanded.  It always makes her nervous to be away from the garden, to be seen by the others.  She has to be even more careful not to misbehave or make mistakes around the others.  It makes Mistress look bad and that makes her disappointed and angry.