"Well, then," Nelatha said simply, "that's all there is to it."
"Pray tell; 'that is all there is to what?'" inquired an imperious and sultry female contralto, coming from almost directly behind their unguarded backs.
Both girls started like birds and together as one bent swiftly and automatically to their tasks as if bowing to one of the many idols of the House of Rababull with an instinctive zeal born of grievous prior experience. One must never be caught openly slacking, and the voice was that of Sorpiala, standing just at the opening of the tent flap.
Sorpiala, so slender and tall for her sex, with long glossy dark hair, and such lovely almond-shaped eyes, was a beautiful young slave woman greatly favored by Master Rababull. Like the Master, Sorpiala was not always so agreeable with the sometimes carelessly chosen words of others, unlike amiable Nelatha.
What made Si'Wren even more afraid, was that some of the others had been heard to remark of late on how beautiful Si'Wren was becoming. In fact, some said Si'Wren was even more beautiful now than cruel, proud Sorpiala.
It gave Si'Wren a scary feeling. In fact, sometimes a positively dreadful feeling. From the warnings Si'Wren had been privately given by others in the House, it was evident to all that Master Rababull had been making eyes at Si'Wren in the months since young Si'Wren had begun to physically blossom, and as was increasingly clear to all, had begun at long last upon the path of becoming transformed from a human reed into something a little more shapely, after the manner of all womankind.
Si'Wren somehow found herself becoming progressively more aware of such dire warnings by the older female slaves in the House, who seemed to feel that it would be Si'Wren's very life if Sorpiala should perceive Si'Wren as a threat to her domain.
But, being so young and innocent, and not able to fully comprehend the meaning of such dark speakings, Si'Wren could only shrug inwardly, knowing not how or what she might do to avoid such an unintended confrontation of fates. Lives should intertwine and complement, not strangle, one-another. And it seemed to her that sometimes now Si'Wren felt Master Rababull's eyes lingering inordinately long upon her, and could only feign not to notice, for she was utterly at a loss to know how to behave, even without the unconventional idea of some unguessable danger stemming out of Sorpiala's secretly harbored and uncontrolled upwellings of jealousy.
It was well-enough known to all, that syrupy sweet Sorpiala could without warning become subtle and vicious at the slightest perceived insult. For Sorpiala's lips were quick to smile, although her almond-shaped eyes had always betrayed an hardness, and Sorpiala could be unrelentingly vindictive about her jealousies, which were countless. Sorpiala had been the Master's favorite for as long as Si'Wren could remember. Cross up Sorpiala, and you could end up strapped to the nearest alter with a stone knife hovering in a pair of hairy fists over your chest.
There was no way of knowing how long Sorpiala had stood behind the two of them in deathly silence, listening at their backs while Nelatha and Si'Wren spoke foolishly, uttering what could all too easily become their own death warrants on a moment's notice, for appearing to so willfully and heedlessly forsake their proper duties.