To The Slave Market - Flan

Flan was very tired.  She'd been up most of the night comforting Laurel after her whipping.  The girl had tried to escape from Targa but had not gotten far.  He only had one hunting sleen left, but it had been enough.  She's been tracked and caught less than a mile from the city and gotten a set of whip marks on her back for her stupidity.  Now she was hanging by her wrists as a further warning.  Flan thought her claim of being an Ubar's daughter was absurd.  The girl clearly had no sense and had not been brought up right.  Ubar's daughter indeed.  A laughable claim.
 
Flan knelt out of tiredness, slumped forward as far as she dared go.  The collar around her neck would strangle her if she fell forward too hard and Targa would whip her if she did not appear pleasing and fresh.  So when the warrior passed by and the other girls begged him to buy them, she joined their chorus.  She forced her voice to be loud and adopted the nadu position.  Loud enough to be heard and posed to be enticing.  That was the key.
 
The warrior moved on however, hardly looking at the girls for sale.  Flan slumped back down, eyes drooping.  It was going to be a long day.  She vowed to beat Laurel when they were put back in the slave pen that night.  The girl would learn that escape was impossible, the consequences dire.  And Flan would get her proper sleep.