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During these treks from town to town, Natasha dressed and worked just likethe other women in the group. However, when we arrived at our newdestination, she would don her long black dress with black stockings andshoes with a club heel. With a scarf and a myriad of necklaces, banglesand rings she transformed into Madam Natasha. She was not a strikingwoman but her eyes were bright and while her smile would light up thewagon, she had a gaze that struck fear into even the bravest of hearts.As a child, I remember the swish of her long black dress with thepetticoat underneath that was accompanied by the jangle of her jewels andthe click of her heels as she strode through the wagon to make her way toher tent where people were usually lined up 10 deep awaiting her arrival. She never wore make up save for these times. Bright red lips, a touch ofrouge and of course deep red nails. Natasha was not a vain woman but her nails were her pride. Since herhands played such a role in her fortune. And in all of its sickening detail I was back in Yellow Mike’s slave camp.The slaver’s camp was, one of, if not THE single most revolting place I can ever recall. The pleasure camps of The Austere, for all of their twisted depravity, are at least clean. Yellow Mike’s camp was filthy. Refuse from poorly butchered animals was piled to rot on top of human exriment running out of the slave pens. The poorly constructed huts for Yellow Mike’s crew were filthy, and stank of old sweat, and grime. The memories of the vile scents, and sights, assaulted my mind, and even though something within my mind screamed at me to awake. I couldn’t.Vader had been Yellow Mike’s prized dog. I will always remember how his muscles seemed to ripple under his sleak, black coat. And how he was always willing to snap at anyone who came too close to him. The short time my brother Steffan and I had been in that camp, we had come to despise that dog.We were thrust inside the fence of the fighting ring. The sight of.
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