S'jira had risen before the morning's light to do as many of the chores as possible before heading towards the fishing pier where the old fisherwoman was known to cast her nets.

"Morning's already broke, S'ji, where th'devil have ye been?"

S'jira smiled at the woman some would have thought to be a man to look at the back of her. Her silvery hair was shot with black and tied back into a twist to be tucked beneath a man's brown soft-cap. She wore a man's grey tunic and old brown britches that were too big, baggy on her. Boots that might have belonged to her late husband thunked loudly against the wood of the pier as she shuffled over to where the nets were tied to the end of it.

"Please forgive," Murmured softly, but to argue the point that the morning light was just a ghostly hint on the horizon would have been a futile effort. S'jira had tried before and failed miserably.

Fingers her own saw that the binging cord was well in place about her waist before moving towards the nets as well. Together she and woman started to haul the heavy nets out of the waters. The older woman seemed well into her late fifties, perhaps older, but she was strong and her mind was far from attled.

Lithe arms were soon hurting from the heaviness of the struggling fish, but S'jira did not shy from the hard work. By hand, one fish at a time, they were put into tall, woven baskets and hauled into the back of the older woman's 4'x4' cart where the mule stood ready.

It took until the nineth hour of the morning to get the handful of nets emptied and those baskets filled, and put neatly into the back of the cart. By the time they were finished, the girl smelled of nothing but fish.
Gnarled, weather tanned hand patted smartly against S'jira's right shoulder.

"Good work again, S'ji girl." That same hand dropped away and dug into a leather pouch the old woman carried. S'jira was handed a small, earthen bottle of salve, stoppered with cork and then several strands of cord used often to fix her nets with. "There ye be, S'ji. You can make what you like of the strings and the salve be helpin' heat hurtin' muscles. Maybe those knees too that ye keep a'sittin' on instead ofa chair.." The fisherwoman shook her head and pulled herself up slowly into the seat of the cart, taking the worn set of reigns into aged hands.

"Thanks to you again for the trade-work, Mistress." S'jira's tone was gentled, soft. She had come to worry over the woman in the few weeks she had known and worked with her. Her health was not the best and the woman was very, very stubborn.

When she saw the buck-end of the cart leave dirt for road and round a corner out of sight, S'jira headed towards the bathhouse. With luck, there would be purpose found in trade for a good bath and a cake of soap. There would be no work for a slave that smelled of fish...

"You damn ... meddlin' girl! Did I ask for it? Nay!" Thale had dragged herself up out of bed. Her heavily lined face wore no expression of happiness and pale blue eyes narrowed at S'jira. Her grey and white hair lay long over her shoulders, front and back, instead of in its twist up under the soft-cap.

S'jira dropped hard to her knees as the bowl sailed over her head and hit the wall behind her. Clamour of the simple vessel of wood thudded and clattered as it then landed against the floor, leaving the soup trailing down the old, plank walls of the fisherwoman's shack. A mucky puddle of it was pooling on the floor where it met with that same wall.

The girl did not tremble for her life. It was the third time that week the elder had thrown something at the slave girl. But she remained on her knees for a short while more, waiting until weariness forced Thale back to sitting to the edge of the bed, then leaning against the straw-stuffed pillow casing.

In quiet, S'jira finally moved and cleaned the potatoes and bits of chicken from the wall and floor. Gentle stubborness kept her there a while longer. The gurgling in the woman's chest had stopped and she was gaining strength, obviously enough if she was hurling things at her again.

The soup reheated, she took it back towards the crudely-fashioned bed. Though her dark eyes tried to avoid the woman's scowl, she could see that her visage had softened a little.

"Stubborn one, ain'tcha?" Thale accused S'jira of it easily enough, though it could have been a statement about herself at the same time. But this time, she took the bowl and spoon, eyeing her from where Thale half-lay in the bed. "Did you steal it? There's chicken in it?" Accusing again, but softer still.

S'jira had learned with this one, her anger was not about blaming S'jira for things, but needing someone to blame for what unhappiness the gods had sought to dump by the netload into her life. "It was not stolen. There was concern meantioned for you to a.. friend," The girl paused to think of Master Ashandar and the gifts he had prepared for S'jira to take to the 'old hag'. A slight smile, she pulled the ragged covers up over Thale to meet her waist.

"Nothin'...nothin', I say, is ever given without some sorta wantin' in return." For a moment, Thale's eyes glinted with expectation, like a washwoman who'd just heard the latest bit of juicy gossip. "Sweet on him, are you?"

Hand drew back from the cover, with that put in place. Eyes of black rested on her pale, age-lined cheek. Her smile lingered, albeit it small. "He is barely known, but he has been generous."

It was as if something dawned on the old woman. She shoved her bedraggled hair back out of her face, pushing the wirey locks of grey and white over her shoulder. "Almost forgot," As if she hadn't thrown the bowl at her earlier, or accused her of stealing. "In m'bag over there." A gnarled hand lifted to the left and flitted a couple of times in movement. "Dig about in it, 'jira girl. Go on now. There's somethin' there for you."

S'jira's first thought was an asp. Or worse. Perhaps the older woman was truly upset that she'd insisted on the soup and bringing her that second bowl. But Thale was already supping on it, shoving a bit of day-old bread into it.

Bare feet carried the small one over to the canvas bag Thale owned. There was no coin enough for a proper dwelling or a fair trunk to hold her belongings, but the bag was good enough for hauling about what belonged to her. Knees met the floor beside it even as hands pushed back the flap of the bag. Inside were some clothes, a couple of trinkets, and tools for repairing nets. All of which S'jira had seen before. But to the bottom, beneath all of the rest, rough cloth was bundled about something and tied off with net cord.

Sable gaze glanced towards Thale who was grinning so wide that the gaps where some of her teeth were missing were very visible. S'jira turned back to the package and carefully untied the net strings so that they could be used again. Putting the strings into the bag, she then turned attention to the bundle again.

Fingers opened the old square of cloth and found the light brown cloth within it. And S'jira smiled.

"There, see. I knew you would be likin' it. Good, aye?"

S'jira nodded and passed her hand over the cloth. Like her own that she wore, but without the years of wear and tear to its material or the tears about the hems of it.

"Now, you put some of that mendin' to good use and put somethin' pretty on it. Flowers or somethin', aye?"

The small one gained her feet, bare soles padded against the floor as she neared the bed. She took the old woman's hand in hers and kissed the wrist of it; thankfully.

"Flowers will be put to it. Thanks is given for the gift. New cloth was hoped to be bought, but it would take a while longer.. "

Thale flitted a gnarled hand at her. "You've been helpin' me get well and all. Now, off with you and to the inn before they be wonderin' who snatched you up." Thale chuckled a bit and shook her head. Old eyes watched her though. The lid was put to the soup, in case Thale wanted more for later, then with the gift held dear to her clothed midriff, S'jira headed for the door.

A smile was sent over her shoulder to the elder, then closed the door well.. light upon her feet as she headed from the area not far from the docks, back towards the inn.