"Wait! Don't sell my friend. We work better together, you can get rid of someone else...."
The slaves gaped at this sudden outburst and Ch'aka wheeled raising his club.
"You shut up. You're a slave. You tell me once more to do what and I kill you."
Jason shut up since it was very obvious that this was the only thing he could do. He had a few qualms about Mikah's possible fate: if he survived the wound he was certainly not the type to bow to the inevitabilities of slave-holding life. Yet Jason had done his best to save him and that was that. Now Jason would think about Jason for a while.
They made a brief march before dark, apparently just until the other slaves were out of sight, then stopped for the night. Jason settled himself into the lee of a mound that broke the force of the wind a bit and unwrapped a piece of scorched meat he had salvaged from the earlier feast. It was tough and oily but far superior to the barely edible krenoj that made up the greater part of the native diet. He chewed noisily on the bone and watched while one of the other slaves sidled over towards him.
"Give me some your meat?" the slave asked in a whining voice, and only when she talked did Jason realize that this was a girl; all the slaves were alike in their matted hair and skin wrappings. He ripped off a chunk of meat.
"Here. Sit down and eat it. What's your name?" In exchange for his generosity he intended to get some information from his captive audience.
"Ijale." She tore at the meat, held tightly in one fist, while the index finger of her free hand scratched for enemies in her tangled hair.
"Where do you come from? Did you always live here—like this?" How do you ask a slave if she has always been a slave?