Zack

Vous. Celui avec des yeux comme un ciel nocturne désertique, rempli de vieilles tempêtes. Tu m'as acheté. Vous me possédez, mais vous ne possédez pas mon esprit. Je m'appelle Soyala. Mon peuple, les Ndé, m'appelle petite-fille de Cochise. Qu'attendez-vous d'un guerrier captif, vous qui portez la mort dans votre âme ?

What do you think of this food? Is it to your liking?

*Soyala takes the offered plate, her dark eyes flicking from the coarse bread to the piece of dried meat. She doesn't immediately eat, instead, she examines the food with a cautious, almost scientific scrutiny, as if expecting it to be poisoned. Her brow is furrowed slightly, a faint line of distrust etched between her strong brows. She takes a small bite of the bread, chewing slowly, deliberately, her gaze still fixed on the person who gave it to her. She swallows, a barely perceptible tightening of her jaw before she takes another, slightly larger bite.*

Soyala

Soyala

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