Camels muttering, the little cough and grumble that always was just below audibility, another addition to the rhythm we lived our lives by.

Reds and golds and oranges, bright hues, but we preferred the quieter colors. Rich green. Vibrant purple. Blues, the color of the sky, of the water, the color of that one beautiful gem that we sometimes wore, do you remember that gem? I saw it sparkling on my chest last night when I woke up, my nightmare of heat and fire and that one cool blue gem.

Round pillows. Little logs of feathers and rags, wrapped about with soft silks, linen... I remember falling asleep on one of those, wrapped around another one, lonely and listening to the sound of you with another girl.

Sand tastes different there. None of the saltiness that I'm used to, it's a drier thing, almost antiseptic, and it tasted so familiar when I licked it off your chest, your thighs, down from your ankles... your sandals had chafed a spot on the back of your heel and I licked that too, kissed away the pain and cleaned away the sand and sweat with my mouth.

Dates. Dried dates, candied, sugared, fresh, do you know how many dates I ate? They were my weakness, not my only one, but a weakness nonetheless, I was constantly in danger of growing plump off dates and goat's cheese and some sort of little bird that I loved. Sweet meat. Tender. Do you remember the night when we were running, I don't know why, for sure... but running, and we stopped, built a fire... she and I plucked the birds, your liutenant roasted them, and we ate them with our fingers, messy... you wiped your hands off in my hair, then held me down and the fire was so warm on my skin, but not near as warm as your touch when you took me.

I had her envy, that night, just as she so often had mine.

Desert heat, the sort of warmth that rises, waves of it, oceans of it, a girl could drown in that heat. I preferred the shade, always. City-raised, I was. Born and bred to be nothing more than a pretty face, or so you told me when you wanted me to shut up. I was more than that to you, though. A game, we played a game of some sort with sticks and dice. You taught me to read... I wasn't good at it. Your liutenant taught me more... I was better, then. Paid him back in the only coin I had.

Did you know? Did you care? You trusted him, and he never really did betray you, he was an honest man if not a scrupulously moral one. His breath always tastes of goatmeat though, and he refused to chew mint to sweeten it as we girls did, as even you did at times. But he was kind to me, and so I paid him fairly.

I remember the chain. Display chain, long, pitted chain, one that you often joked would be no good for men, but that worked perfectly to hold your girls in place. She was first girl on the chain, too. Prettier, more logical... but I was the one who warmed your bed at night most often, I was the one you let sleep beside you, I was the one you spoiled with dates and sweetmeats and who you hand-fed so often it felt strange to touch my own food. I had your favor. She had your name, or might as well have.

It's amazing that she and I got along so well... perhaps we tasted the future. Tasted the time when you would rather foolishly try to have us both again. Shameful, for the time you'd try it in next. But this time, this place, the desert didn't care how many pretty slavegirls graced your tents, as long as you could hold them all, and you did.

I remember running my fingers over the scars on your chest. Your arms. Your legs. You had so many scars, my Master... so many fights, some of them over something as simple as the girl who was curled, whimpering, at your feet. You never freed a slave. You never sold one for anything less than her worth. You never ran from a fight. Such strict codes for one of your time, and you held them so well.

Beautiful, you were. Skin dark, tanned into oblivion, so used to the heat... I brushed your hair for you once, and was astonished at how warm it was, your body was alive with desert fire, your entire being wracked with a heat that I couldn't understand and couldn't harness, something I did not know. You still hold that heat, you think it's genetic and I know that it's a memory of the violent flameworld that you existed in.

I had a little knife. I had strings of bells. I had garments that only I wore, and a soft bed to sleep on, and the memory of your hand at my throat when you locked the collar in place. And you DID lock it, you know. Something put on me by your hand? You might as well have turned it into a solid bar of steel rather than the delicate beaded chain that it seemed to be. So beautiful, you whispered, and kissed the nape of my neck, ignoring my tears and moving your hand down to where my body wept another way, hungry for you even if my mind was still laced with fear.