Both ears fanned back at the reprimand. Salvia was unused to the idea of slaves lacking identities—they were living things after all. Yet the more she listened, the more her young mind tried to relate this knowledge into something she better understood. Herd animals, she reasoned, were like slaves. The sheep were not people, just items her father tended. Perhaps this was what slaves were like. They were sheep; they were objects.
Tlanti’s lapse back into Spanish drew her attention again, and she felt silly for even suggesting such a thing. Thankfully, her aunt went on to ask about the girl’s age. Sirius had done this long ago, but now Salvia understood that with age came power. How desperately she wanted to be an adult. “Casi cinco meses,” she explained, beaming.
.saltext b {font-weight:bold; color:#000000; letter-spacing:1px; }
.saltext .ooc { font-style:italic; padding:0px; font-family:verdana, sans-serif; font-face:italic; font-size:11px; text-align:center;}
.saltext p {text-indent:25px; padding:1px 1px; margin:0px;}
.saltext {margin:0px auto; width:450px; background-color:none; background-image:url(); background-position:top right; background-repeat:no-repeat; border:none; padding: 10px 0px 0px 0px; font-family: georgia, sans-serif; font-size:12px; color:#111111; line-height:14px; letter-spacing:.5px; text-align:justify;}
.saltext .separator{width:400px; border-bottom:1px dotted #000000; margin:0 auto 5px auto;}
</style>[/html]