“My, uh, tribe became split many centuries ago over the, uh, ownership of other people whether by conquest or by birth. Um, so several efforts passed and finally the issue was settled by not having anyone be owned by another, and each man and woman having equal rights of another. Children were raised on the belief that owning another hu—ah, person, was wrong on a fundamental level. A power too easily abused. So they outlawed it. I come from that tribe and follow that rule! I don’t own a slave!”
Mirrsola looked at him blankly. It was clear she had never imagined such a thing had existed. “Is that really true? Master.” She added after a heartbeat.
Paul groaned. “Yes. And no ‘master’ bit. It was my deepest honor and happiest wish to help you out of a jam. But you don’t owe me anything by it. I’m in a bit of a plight myself.” He froze for a moment as a new idea came to him.
“Hey! If you want to repay me, maybe you could give me some information! I assure you the exchange will be even!”
Mirrsola teared up, her head looking down. “You do not want me.” She whispered so forlornly it broke his heart. “My honor is stripped and I am shaklath.” Paul missed the word but the meaning was perfectly plain as she drew a small knife.
Written by Snore23 on 07 July 2017