The old chief understood Damita’s feelings better than she did, the young woman swallowing a lump in her throat as she studied his face; she knew then that the answer was not one she wanted to hear, though she forced herself to sit quiet. Having finished her piece of chicken and cleaned her fingers in her mouth, Damita’s hands were now balled within her skirt, her eyes lowering slowly.<br/><br/>She flinched visibly at the old man’s answer, her face seeming to drain of color as the answer to her question was completed. “He… He..” She stood then, storming out of the tent, refusing to allow those two to see her tears; though these weren’t for her father, they were for her. Once out of the tent she ran, gaze blurring as she darted for the edge of the forest, wanting to hide herself behind a tree so that she could sob out her frustrations. She had been traded for the gold, not for peace; she had heard of the same happening farther north.<br/>