The woman was interested in what he had to say. Gale noticed her body change slightly but he was unsure if she was displeased or happy to hear what he offered her. He only bobbed his head in confirmation when the woman laughed out a harsh laugh. He could feel the success emanate from her like an aura of power. He was not so spiritually inclined, but he knew that she was happy with her acquisition of a man who could weave and a girl child who could learn the trade too. Did not many weave here? Was it uncommon?
Gale tightened his lips together at her use of his nickname. He had not spilled that little bit of information had he? He could not recall. Perhaps he had, but he simply said nothing. The Romans had called him the Lion as well. Lionhearted, the Lion of the Arena, of Rome. What silly titles to give to someone just as likely to win the match as die from the loss of blood on the arena floor. Romans were strange like that, but at least there was no fighting for the pleasure of the masters here. Blood was shed in defense, and not to amuse masses of bored and spoiled men, women, and children. Too few slaves here, and not enough people.
"My sister had truly beautiful skills with weaving, Domina. But she taught me enough. If I spend enough time, I might match her." If weaving was as valuable as it sounded, perhaps it would secure Yvette's future as a weaver and not a master's sex toy. "Is there wool?" he asked her, knowing that thread could be spun from wool. That had been the very first thing Evangaline had taught him. She had smiled and laughed when he bumbled his way through the spindle's turns.
Image credited to RomeCabs. Table style inspired by Kitty.
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