When I told Bobbie and Sara that their fathers and Uncle Art were coming for a tour of the ranch they went into panic mode. I calmed them and told them that Doug was going to start at his Ma's place and the Barton House before they came here.As soon as the house, that was as neat as a pin, had been straightened they were worried about food so I suggested breakfast burritos. By the time everyone arrived we had two pots of coffee and a pile of breakfast burritos ready. After we toured the house we sat in the courtyard drinking coffee and eating our burritos.Doug had looked at the wall when in the garage and said, "I had noticed all the old tools in your garage before! They look neat — someday you must explain to me what half of them are for."Uncle Art added, "I grew up on a farm and worked as a carpenter as a young man. There were several that I did not recognize! Is it possible before we leave to see them again?" When we finish here we will go through the garage and I will tell you. Then I remove my tattered jeans, followed by stained and thread bare underwear.Shivering begins to wrack my body. Not because I’m cold. This place is neither warm nor cold. I feel vulnerable. I expect Tahlana to speak peace or reassurance into my mind, but she doesn't. She lets me feel weak and exposed. I may even sense a confirming mental push from her.‘You are unique among human slaves. Your eyes are different.’ Tahlana hisses in my head again. I know I should panic at those words. I try, but I can’t force it. I let the horrific images of the slavery I know flit across my mind instead. ‘Now, now. None of that. Our Masters cherish their slaves. They are especially affectionate to their human ones.’I feel a small release of pressure in my mind, and I’m able to think one clear thought before the lid is screwed tight again. ‘I don’t want to be a slave.’‘Yet slave you are,’ her voice caresses my thoughts. ‘I see from your memories, even before you were gleaned you were a slave. Slave to.
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