Part 8

A young teen finds herself with difficult decisions to make when thrust into a new chapter within the slave trade.

The process of towel-drying wet fur from all over the body takes a little while, but there's something soothing about the repetition, the simplicity. A floor-to-ceiling mirror caught Surani's eye, and she examined herself as she dried off. Her gold-and-white pelt hung loosely from her malnourished frame, and although muscles were visible, it was obvious that they were underdeveloped. Her expression saddened in deep thought.

 

To leave this place would mean to accept this as a permanent form in exchange for freedom. To stay would be to accept slavery in exchange for a relatively easy life. The Tigress walked up closer to the mirror and studied her own face as she towel-dried the mane that acted as hair would to a human. Her nose was pink, a good sign; but it was dry, a bad sign. She gave herself a fake, toothy smile. Her canines were long, but dull, with irritated black gums.

 

How would she survive, once she did escape this place? She would have to travel very, very far away, in order not to get sucked right back into the slave trade because of her rare pelt. Surani would have to travel to an entirely different world. Leaving the known for the unknown is always an uncomfortable and difficult decision, one that shouldn't be made by someone so young who had seen so many things. With a resolved sigh, she stood in front of the warmth of the recently lit fireplace and wrapped the sari around herself intricately. She would contemplate escape further through the week, and in the meantime, life here might not be so bad.

 

The subtle ticking sound caught her attention, and she raised her gaze to the clock mounted on the wall. It took studying it for several long moments before she realized that it was almost time to go to dinner. Uncertainty plagued her thoughts as she absentmindedly braided her mane on her way to the dining hall. Though she got lost a couple of times, it didn't matter, for she had set out a little earlier than required. With an accidental trip through the door, Surani found herself in the dining hall, with Habib already sitting at the head of the otherwise empty table.

 

“Surani.” His blank yet sad expression lit up into a smile as his eyes fell upon her. “How beautiful you are. Did you enjoy your time alone? Please, have a seat.” He stood and pulled out the chair to his right side.

 

“I did enjoy my time, yes. And you, sir?” The bathroom had been so warm to her that the rest of the house felt unbearably cold, though she suspected she would get used to it in due time. Surani sat as Habib gently pushed the chair in, and once she was seated, he sat as well.

 

“As much as one can enjoy oneself while working.” He replied good-naturedly, resting a napkin in his lap. There must be some importance to resting a napkin in one's lap... Surani observed and set her napkin in her lap as well. “But please, I don't want any of this 'sir' business. To you, I am Habib.”

 

“What is it that you do, may I ask?” Surani wasn't sure what she thought of calling him by such a silly name. Surely a slave owner deserved more respect than that, and even if he didn't, she would offer it to him anyways as a reflection of her character.

 

The unusual pause of his answer indicated he was taking note of the way Surani dodged his request. “I am a professor. I teach magic at an anthropomorphic university a few hours away, but it is summer, so the students and I are all taking time off. Summer is ending, so I am preparing for next years' course. Are you interested in educating yourself?”

 

“Yes.” Her reply surprised the both of them with how immediate and bold it was. “Yes,” she repeated more quietly. “I do what I can to educate myself... which isn't very much. I can't read, I can't write, I can't do math to save my life... I don't know a thing about magic. I didn't even know that it could be taught at schools. I was under the impression that it was a tradition handed down from one generation of a family to the next.” A silent chastising followed her little speech. It would be harder to leave him if he knew more about her... Why must he be so easy to talk to?

 

“Child, we must remedy this. I will teach you to read, I will teach you to write, I will teach you arithmetic, and, if you wish, I will teach you magic.”

 

Plates of food were set in front of the two of them by previously unseen servants. “Thank you.” Surani murmured. But then she caught sight of the foreign food, and even her greediness for an education faltered at the odd stuff. “I hope I'm not sounding disrespectful... But, what is this?”

 

“Do you mean to tell me that you've never had cooked food before?”

 

“Oh, this is what cooked food looks like? I thought it would be blue, for the way my old master carried on about it. He believed that... anthropomorphic creatures should be as animalistic as possible, to punish the humans for tampering with magic and creating us. We always ate meat raw... Where it still resembled what it once was.

 

“It's always nice to have raw food every once in a while, because this is something we are capable of that the humans are not, and we must celebrate our gifts, however small. But we sentient creatures cook food for the same reason we paint or learn music or magic or a typical education; it is an art form. We better ourselves in the process, by creating something new, something better. Follow my lead.” In a very showy fashion, casting gazes at her at every opportunity, Habib proceeded to demonstrate to Surani how to use utensils to cut the roast duck, and then raise a bite to one's lips and consume it. He smiled as he swallowed. “Your turn, Surani.”

 

The first utensil she picked up, a knife, seemed like a crude hunting weapon, but was something she recognized. The fork, however, might as well have been a medieval torture device, for how well she knew how to use it. Gripping it with all five fingers, she unceremoniously stabbed the duck, and then hacked away with the knife. After severing a large chunk off, she raised it to her mouth, and promptly stabbed herself in the cheek with it. After a couple more tries, she managed to get the piece of meat between her lips. As the food touched her tongue, her mouth seemed to explode with saliva for how surprisingly delicious it was. The food was much easier to chew, and much more palatable. How she wished she had discovered cooked food sooner.

 

Meanwhile, Habib, although enjoying his own food, was enjoying the show more. To watch a teen use eating utensils for the first time was quite amusing. He lifted a napkin from the table and gently dabbed away the food that had accidentally gotten onto her cheek, then resumed eating in silence, absorbed in his own thoughts.

 

The dining hall remained quiet for a while, although the muteness was regularly interrupted by Surani's loud chomping and unpracticed use of cutlery. It was only until the plate was entirely polished off, save for the bones, when she set down the eating utensils victoriously and leaned back in her chair, feeling a drunk, simple kind of happy.

Author's Note

This is a story set during the industrial revolution, in a parallel third world. Magic exists along with science, and sentient animals walk among man. I feel confident about this part, Act I, and I have a solid foundation for Act III, but I'm struggling with the bridge between the two: Act II. I would love some constructive criticism and some recommendations of how to continue the story and overcome writer's block.