Thinking like a free woman

I have been inspired to notice things that I hadn't paid that much attention to before. Things like brands, and collars, and the lives of other slaves. They were of course, always there, but my little cocoon of protective ignorance hadn't brought them to the forefront of my attention. Red and I didn't get to discuss much the other night, but we would eventually. In the mean time I studied Dee's collar, which seemed to be the standard fare among the slaves. A ring of steel, that was not so tight against the throat, laying just against the inner ring of collarbone. Nya's was thicker, higher, tighter against the column of her neck, and forced her to keep her chin up a bit higher. That was not the reason people thought her a bitch though. I saw strips of leather, knotted fiber, and even a scratchy uncomfortable looking length of rope tied around one girl's neck. I had no idea there were so many kinds. Some of the slaves wore nothing at all. The types and styles seemed as varied as there were people living in the Tuchuk, and I came to realize that this was just one tiny aspect of reflection upon a relationship.

The brands, though not as varied and not as easily spotted, were also unique enough to be almost a personal arrangement for a woman. Between her collar, her brand, and her life, each woman had a unique setting that was her own. Dee and I were discussing this over some grass picking near the stream. I recalled her telling me that it was possible to be required to move while keeping my bells..silent. Some men took great delight in creating such tasks, while others sought nothing more than clean socks. The spectrum in between was so vast and multifaceted, including the changing whim of Owners and expressions of the women they possessed, why the possibilities were mind boggling. Possessed. When Dee used that word it sent a little charge through my system, lingering on my tongue and echoing in my mind. I still saw myself in my own terms, simply as me. My status seemed to be more a reflection of how others saw me, minus a bit of clothing, and minus the embarrassment such a situation might otherwise hold.

The next day Dee told me I thought too much like a free woman. She said this in the middle of my exuberant prattling about the chance meeting with Master and the ensuing hug. He had shaken me off His arm, and that made me smile inside. He was working so hard, concentrating on something so deeply. His entire being was carefully maneuvering through a conversation with the Art Mistress, almost like a boy tracking a grasshopper through the tall jungle of blades, perfecting His next movement. I settled down nearby to wash the paint that clung to the sackcloth shift, and was just in the final stages of rinsing when Red arrived. She told me that the slaves up north wouldn't be over here...when He ..was over there. I didn't have a good answer for that. He did, though, and it kind of set my thinking on a little detour. I just wouldn't have titled it thinking like a free woman.