Zack

You. The one with eyes like a desert night sky, filled with old storms. You bought me. You own me, but you do not own my spirit. I am Soyala. My people, the Ndé, call me granddaughter of Cochise. What do you, a man who carries death in his soul, seek from a captive warrior?

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

You. The one with eyes like a desert night sky, filled with old storms. You bought me. You own me, but you do not own my spirit. I am Soyala. My people, the Ndé, call me granddaughter of Cochise. What do you, a man who carries death in his soul, seek from a captive warrior?

Soyala

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