"What are you doing?"
"Carrying firewood," the raccoon replies, then hops around on a leg and a crutch to face the female behind him. "And what are you doing, Zee?"
"I'm getting tea for my master," the skunkette grins, "but why are you carrying wood? I thought the kitchen mistress only declared you fit for light duties? Surely the master would let another slave do this task?"
"Yes," he replies, "but I'm only carrying a few logs at a time and besides..."
"It keeps you out of Remarra's rooms most of the time?" she finishes for him.
"Yes..."
Treel is returning to Remarra's rooms with a couple of logs when he hears sobbing coming from her door.
"Mistress?" he asks cautiously, "is something wrong?" When no respones is forthcoming he tries again, somewhat louder, but still to no avail, so he decides to brave it.
He finds the young coyote sitting naked in front of her desk, sobbing and muttering to herself.
Listening closely he realises that she's mumbling 'ugly' over and over again. "You're pretty!" he exclaims.
The coyote, realising that he's standing there, turns around, throws a brush after him and growls, "Who asked you?!" Then, throwing another brush, she yells, "Get out!"
"Yes, mistess!" he exclaims, ducking back and almost falling backwards through the door. I wonder what caused this mood? He quickly closes the door then places the logs he was carrying down on the floor before heading towards the kitchen.
"What did you do to anger Remarra, this time?" the lioness grins, "we could hear her yelling at you."
"Nothing, mistress," the raccoon mutters. Then he hops over to the fireplace and hangs a small kettle over the fire.
"Nothing?" the lioness prods, "tell me or I'll alert the master that you're doing something bad to his daughter."
Gulp! Knowing that the kitchen mistress is likely to find out anyway -- she always does -- he quickly explains what happened.
"She was in town earlier today," the lioness muses, "maybe she met a male coyote she liked and he snubbed her?"
"But why would she think that she's ugly? There are..."
"Lots of other reasons to snub her," the lioness grins. "And don't deny it," she adds when she sees his shocked expression, "I know that's what you thought. Anyway, she's carrying a child she didn't want, from a male she dislikes and her hopes of ever finding a mate is getting slimmer and slimmer every day while her body is getting larger and larger, so why can't she be allowed some self-pity?"
"I-I..." he begins, uncertain, "I've heard that there are ways to..."
"Get rid of the unborn one?" she finishes. "Yes, but it's too dangerous when it's her first child. She'd most likely end up bleeding to death."
"Oh."
Watching him prepare a pot of tea and placing it in a basket -- even Remarra had to accept that it's impossible for him to carry a tray when he's using one arm on the crutch -- she asks, "What are you doing now? She didn't exactly send you out to get tea."
"No, mistress," he replies, hitching the basket on his right arm and getting ready to move out, "but I expect her to ring for it about now."
"My, you're..."
The rest of the lioness' words are lost to an intense chiming from a bell up on a wall.
"Slave!"
"Coming, mistress!" the raccoon exclaims, then carefully places his brush on the table in the hallway and hobbles into Remarra's rooms. "What is your wish, mistress?"
"I want to take a hot bath," the coyote states. "Go and prepare it. Now!"
"Yes, mistress!" he responds, turning and moving as fast as he can on one leg and a crutch. Well out in the hallway again, he stops for a moment to snag his other set of clothes before hobbling on to the stairs leading to the basement. Listening for a moment to determine if anyone else is down there, he hobbles into a small room dominated by a large oven. He digs around in the warm ashes to uncover some glowing embers, drops a few pieces of bark and a few twigs on top of them and blows gently, coaxing the embers into a fire. As soon as the flames are large enough he stuffs as many pieces of firewood into the oven as it can take, then turns his attention to the water pump a few feet away. He places a bucket under the spout, grabs the handle and begins to pump. The bucket soon fills and he stops pumping to lug it over to the oven where he dumps the water into a large tank, then repeats the process until the tank is full. Checking that the fire is burning well, he hobbles into the room next door, and lays out a stack of soft, thick towels next to the large wooden tub before hurrying back to the oven.
By the time the water is at the right temperature, the air in the small room is almost unbreathable, and he sighs with relief when he can bank the fire and turn the tap that empties the tank through a pipe into the tub in the next room. Just in time, he realises, hearing the slow, heavy steps of the pregnant coyote as she descends the stairs and enters the bathroom.
I must have gotten the temperature right, he muses when a few minutes has passed without angry outbursts. Satisfied that he has a few moments before she starts yelling, he dumps a bucket of water into the tank on the oven, then empties it back into the same bucket. Checking with a finger that the water had warmed up slightly, he unfolds his spare clothes, shakes off the dirt, then stuffs the fabric into the bucket. At least there wasn't any bloodstains this time.
Thud! Splash!
Hearing the noise, Treel quickly tosses his clothes over a line, then hobbles over to the door of the bathroom. "Mistress?" he calls.
Nice... Slowly coming to, the first she notices is the strong, but gentle paws rubbing her back, then the balled up towel under her head and finally a frantic voice.
"Mistress! Mistress!"
That rotted raccoon? Why am I on the floor and why is he rubbing my back? Growling, she rolls over on her side and starts to sit up, swatting his paws aside when he tries to help her. "Why..." she begins, "why are you in here?"
"Mistress," he starts, nervously, "I heard a loud splash, and when you didn't respond, I looked in and found you floating muzzle-down in the water..."
Growling, she manages to get up onto a chair. Snagging the towel from his paws, she covers herself with it. "This is all your fault!"
"Yes, mistress," he sighs, grabbing another towel from a shelf and approaching her with it.
"Get out!" she growls, yanking the towel from him, "and if you tell anyone what happened, I'll... I'll..."
"Skin me alive, mistress?" he offers without thinking. Ooops, did it again! "I'll just go and lay a nice fire in your rooms, then," he hurries to add, "and get you a pot of tea from the kitchen?"
"Just get out!" she growls, but makes no attempt to get up from her chair and make good on her threats.
"Yes, mistress!" he exclaims, then hurries out of the room before he can get into even more trouble.
Night.
Creak.
The low sound wakes Treel just in time to see the paws that shoots out to clamp around his muzzle.
"Answer me," the coyote utters in a growling whisper, "have you told anyone what happened today?" Then she slackens her grip on his muzzle slightly.
"N-no," he manages to whisper.
"Good!" she growls. "Why not?"
"You told me not to, mistress," he replies. That, and if I told anyone, her father would first punish me, then order that I must be present the whole time while she baths, and THAT would make her even angrier at me!
"Remember," she hisses, "it was all your fault!"
"Y-yes," he whispers nervously. How?
As if reading his mind, she slaps her belly and adds, "This... this thing weighing me down caused me to lose my balance."
Barely manageing to hold back his urge to place a paw on her large belly, he whispers nervously, "What's going to happen to it?"
"That's none of your business!" she growls, clamping his muzzle shut again and shaking him hard. Then, as she releases her grip and stands up, she growls, "Maybe I'll rip it apart and feed the pieces to you since you like it so much!" Her anger spent, for the moment at least, she goes back to her own bed and lies down.
"Slave!"
"Yes, mistress," Treel responds quietly, getting up from in front of the fireplace where he was brushing up ashes, "what is your command?"
"What is that noise?" she growls, pointing towards the door from where a low shuffling noise can be heard.
He quickly pads over to the door, opens it slightly and peeks into the corridor. "It's the kitchen mistress and the pregnant females from the pens," he states, closing the door quietly, "she's showing them around and explaining the rules, mistress."
"Tell them to keep it down!" the coyote growls, "I'm trying to rest!"
He's barely out into the corridor before a strong, golden-furred paw lands on his shoulder and he is being turned around.
"Some of you might recognise this one," the lioness states, "or maybe not, as he's not injured at the moment." Glancing sternly at the assembled slaves, all decked out in white, baggy dresses, she adds sternly, "Don't try to seek comfort from him unless you want to feel Mistress Remarra's wrath."
"Mistress?" Treel asks, nervously.
"Yes?"
"Mistress Remarra is resting," he begins, nodding towards the door he just came through.
"Everyone!" the lioness orders in a voice a little louder than necessary, "back to the kitchen, and walk quietly!"
Remarra will be furious!
No sooner has the thought entered his mind than her voice cuts through the momentary silence, "Slave!"
Opening the door and peeking inside, the raccoon responds, "Yes, mistress?"
"I'm hungry!" she growls, "bring me a jar of sweet plums. Now!"
"I'm running, mistress," he replies, shutting the door and hurrying off towards the kitchen. I wonder what those plums taste like? She never even leave any of the juice in the jar, so they must be very good.