The elder began speaking, and everyone went quiet. Paul frowned, listening intently to the croaking voice. The accent he held was so terrible he couldn’t make much of anything out. The only words he caught were “Mirrsola” and “gol”
When he had finished speaking the girl spoke a little. Paul could follow her speech more easily, and he understood that she was telling the elder about her adventure and rescue by him. He was grateful that his fur hid his savage blush at her…exaggerated tale of his heroism. He was pretty sure he hadn’t been that fast, though it might have seemed like it at the time, nor did he throttle two hulking gol warriors at a time.
He stayed quiet though, she knew her people better than he did after all. Perhaps having a bit of a rep was a good thing?
The old cat reached down into his bag and withdrew a fistful of something. Paul leaned in closer to get a better look but the old man threw it at him!
Paul blinked in shock. Dark red paint spattered his fur in a spray of crimson on gold. And then
“What the hell?” He squawked, trying to back up. “What was that for?”
Mirrsola turned and bowed very low to him.
“The Village Elder was merely marking you the warrior that you are, and your mastery over
Paul’s eyes widened. He didn’t like the sound of that at all. “What?” he gasped.
“Master, according to the ancient laws, my life is in your hands for the next two years. Any service I can offer I will freely give, of my body and my mind.” Her smile came tremulously. “My heart you already have.”
Paul felt like a mule had come up and kicked him in the gut with both legs. He couldn’t believe what she’d just said.
“Wait, wait! I don’t want to own a slave! I’m an American!” he groped for the right words, seeing the tears starting to form in her eyes and the angry looks that people were shooting him, particularly an older couple that he had seen with her earlier. He bet that they were her parent.
Written by Snore32 on 02 July 2017