Lys: Aithne the Flame

Oh, she was hot. The black pelted boy had tried to take liberties. She chided herself for her momentary fear, but her anger had taken over quick enough. He wouldn't be interested in much of anything in that line any time soon. Latin wasn't good enough. She let loose on him with a string of the Gael, a satire worthy of her father's use. Let him come down with boils. Did not the holy scriptures say "He that you curse shall be cursed?" That he was pagan was evident. That alone- belief in magic, could cause boils to arise by sheer fear of it. And even if it didn't, he'd be crippled for awhile...

Her owner shoved him away, then turned and slapped her, hard. That was for show. There'd be plenty more out of the public eye. She was still too angry to process that knowledge.

She glared at him, curled in the dirt with eyes wide and face contorted. Were she home he would be dead by now.