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"...and then he said he would, the most handsome husband he said, that's exactly right. I also asked for a husband with pretty fur, but maybe I should go back and tell him pretty-colored fur. Because I've nothing against brown fur, you know, but it's not really my favorite. Only I think Captain Thorgrim might think I mean brown fur, because most of that family is brown, you know? And very pretty, too, but not quite what I'm looking for. I think red fur is very pretty, but definitely not blue or green, although I do love those colors I think they'd look a bit silly on a male. Maybe yellow, I do like warm colors. Kind of sunsetty, you know? And I'd never pass up pink, but not too much pink, because pink can be quite a lot, you know? Just a bit of pink would be perfect. Purple really isn't my thing, or indigo, just a bit too grim, I think. I like cheerier colors, although dark colors can be quite dramatic. Why, a black mane on a lion is really a lovely thing, if you can get it just right. Frizzy is no good, but when you can get that glossy black it's to die for, I'm telling you. So I wouldn't mind black, as long as he has prettier colors. Because I want the handsomest husband ever. Do you think I should go back and tell Captain Thorgrim about the colors?"

There was no response. Tindra poked the lion walking with her.

"Well do you?"

Orja had been walking with Tindra for at least fifteen minutes and this was the first time he had been required to comment. He struggled to make some sense of the stream of blather that had been relentlessly hammered into his ears. He could have just told her to shut up and go away, but then he would have to find something to do. Two thralls wandering around together looked busy. One thrall wandering around looked like a punching bag.

"Uh, no," Orja said.

He wasn't sure what she was asking him. Something about whether Captain Thorgrim would marry her, or maybe something about manes. Gods help him. Sometimes he hated being a thrall.

"Do you want to rest your voice? I don't mind. It sounds a bit hoarse. You might be getting a cold."

It didn't sound hoarse at all. It sounded like she could go on for hours. Ugh.

"Hmmph!" Tindra was a bit disappointed. She didn't really think she should push her luck and go bug Thorgrim about the handsome husband thing, but she was a bit concerned that Captain Thorgrim's idea of handsome wasn't hers. Maybe she should go along on the viking to pick.

"I feel fine," Tindra said, "But thank you for asking. It's very nice to be considerate, you know, I do love a considerate lion. Even though you're a thrall. No offense of course, Orja, you know that. Are you planning on challenging for your freedom, by the way? I might if I was a lion, although I'd never want to be a Reaver. But you know, do you think I might be allowed to go along on Captain Thorgrim's viking anyways? He said he's going to organize it by the end of the week. So soon! I might go along to help the Reavers out. I've never been, but I know thralls sometimes do. And then I could help pick the husband! I think I'd like to help pick. It's not that I don't trust Captain Thorgrim, of course, I know he has wonderful judgment, but I would like to be able to help. What if Captain Thorgrim picks a husband for me with pretty fur but an ugly face? I'd like to be on hand in case we need to make any snap judgments. I don't want to wind up with someone ugly. I know Captain Thorgrim wouldn't want me to have an ugly husband, but he's probably not used to looking for handsome hyenas. I mean, half the time the Reavers come back with nothing but lionesses. Nothing against lionesses, of course, but there always seems to be such a shortage of male thralls. Present company excluded. But it must make it harder on you, right? You need some other big brawny fellows to help you do your work, moving heavy things and such. I imagine lionesses simply aren't as good. And some of the poor things, my goodness. I don't know where the Reavers dig them up. Some of them even have fleas. Is that what it's like out in the Roguelands, do you think? Just people wandering around getting fleas? Oh, my goodness, I hope there are handsome hyenas out there that don't have fleas. Now I'm a bit worried. Do you think the hyenas out there have fleas? I don't know, it seems very uncivilized out there to me. I dread to think Captain Thorgrim might bring back a hyena with fleas."

She paused and looked expectantly at Orja, waiting for him to comment.

"Oh my Gods," said Orja.

Tindra nodded vigorously. Fleas! Gods help them all. "I know, I know, Orja," she said. "Gods help us! Fleas. It's a horrible thought. That's why I'm so glad we live here. We have a wonderful pride, don't we? We surely do. Blessed by the Gods, I say. I'm worried about the fleas now, though. Maybe we should go ask Captain Erling if the Roguelands are full of fleas. I'd ask Captain Thorgrim, but he seemed awfully busy. Captain Erling would know about the fleas. Or a Reaver, I guess, although they are a bit crude sometimes, aren't they? And--"

While Orja had been born and raised a thrall, he didn't consider himself blessed by the Gods. He tried giving Tindra a forbidding look, but apparently that didn't work very well when you were an unclaimed male thrall instead of a mighty Reaver or Captain, because Tindra didn't even seem to notice.

Blessed by the Gods. Ha! Living as a slave was definitely not a blessing, certainly not if you were one of the poor bedraggled lionesses Tindra seemed so upset by. She was lucky she was a hyena and not subject to the whims of the Reavers, who could be quite horrible. They were horrible to Orja too, sometimes, beating him for no reason. His ears drooped. Oh, how he missed having an owner.

"Sure. Go bother the Captains about fleas, Tindra," Orja said, interrupting the hyena midsentence. "You go do that. That sounds like a great idea."

"Well you don't have to get snippy," Tindra said huffily. She tossed her head. Nothing soothed her irritation like the satisfaction of feeling her lovely mane cascade dramatically behind her ears. She was quite good at arrogant, overly dramatic hair-flipping.

Orja seemed in poor spirits, even though they were just two thralls having a nice stroll on a pleasant morning. She wondered what had him in a twist. "How are you doing, Orja? You haven't been very talkative today." Tindra gave him a searching look. "You've hardly said two words and that is a fact. Making me do all the work of conversating, although of course I don't mind, but really, I haven't hardly heard from you at all. There's no need to sulk, you know, and you're seeming a bit sulky. Is there anything wrong?"

Tindra was intolerable. The whole situation was intolerable. How, HOW was it that Tindra had a home and he did not? He was nice. He was agreeable. He did what he was told. Tindra, good Gods. She could talk the ear off an elephant. How had she not been pounded into the ground ages ago? Orja knew some of the Reavers were a vain lot and very attached to the hyena that was so good at braiding manes, but still. STILL. Orja was tempted to smack her himself, but it was not his place. He would probably be beaten senseless by angry Reavers with unkempt manes if he smacked Tindra.

"I need a home," Orja grumped. "I'm tired of being an unclaimed thrall. It's terrible, Tindra." He fixed her with a look. "If you were unclaimed, Tindra, you wouldn't think you were blessed by the Gods."

He was tempted to tell her she would curse the Gods every day, but that sounded a bit overly dramatic, and he had already opened up to Tindra enough. Now she would probably run around blathering about his problems to every lion in the pride. Probably most of them would tune her out, but it was still a wince-worthy thought.

"Don't be so negative," Tindra said, giving her mane another dramatic flip and showering Orja with loose flower petals in the process. "Maybe you just need to be a little pushier to find a master. Figure out which lion you want to serve, and follow that lion around making yourself useful. You're not going to find a master by just moping all the time. No offense, Orja, but you do seem awfully mopey. You should be happier. You should smile more. I'm sure a Freeborn would see a happy, smiling Orja and think that -- that is the thrall for me! And then you'll have your master. Just give it a try."

She gave Orja an encouraging smile. Truthfully, Tindra did not think his chances of finding a master were very good. People tended to want male lions for things that required heavy, dumb labor -- hauling heavy things to and fro, bringing carcasses in, and so forth. Claimed thralls tended to be a bit more skillful and mild-mannered. Lionesses were also favored, which made sense to Tindra. It was weird to imagine a proud male Reaver sharing his den with another male, even if that other male was only a thrall.

"Do you want me to ask around? What kind of master are you looking for?"

Ugh, now Tindra wanted to help him. Ugh. Ugh. Uggghhhh.

"A lady," Orja said gloomily. "My last mistress was a Reaver, you know. I'm sure I would be a good thrall for some nice Freeborn lady ... or another lady Reaver."

Actually, not that he would ever, EVER tell Tindra, he had been something of a boytoy for his last mistress. A similar arrangement was too much to be hoped for, but Orja hoped for it anyways. Oh, he would love to just decorate some highborn lady's den. His mistress had always said he was a good listener.

Unfortunately freaking Tindra thought he was a good listener too.

"Definitely not a lion. I've done enough rock-hauling for one lifetime. No, I'd like to be a companion to a nice lioness."

Tindra was a bit befuddled. The male thralls that found homes usually went to large families that wanted someone to do heavy-duty cub minding and carcass hauling. She couldn't think why a lone lioness would want Orja, unless perhaps it was a crafter or huntress that needed a stronger thrall.

"I don't know any ladies in need of a thrall, but I'll look, I promise," Tindra said. She didn't like to see Orja down in the dumps. He was a very good listener, and Tindra was partial to anyone that would lend her an ear for a good stretch of time.

"Do you know how to do ladylike things? Usually ladies like the more refined thralls, you know, but maybe I could teach you some things. A bit of hair combing, of course, but then there's always flower arranging, and poetry composing. I think a lady would just love a lion to read her poetry and bring her pretty things."

Orja shook his head firmly. "No. No, I definitely do not want to learn to arrange flowers. I get beaten up enough as it is. I do not want to become a professional poetry-reading flower-arranger."

Orja had endured as much of Tindra's company as he could stand. He would rather be pushing rocks around. He would almost rather be beaten up by Reavers and their horrible cubs. It was time to make his exit. "Just keep an eye out for any lionesses that might want a handsome thrall. Before I get any more scars."

Orja spotted a disheveled thrall nearby and saw his chance to make a break for it. "Look at that poor thing's hair! You have to do something!"

While Tindra made a beeline for the thrall, Orja sidled away.