The Amazon Chronicle
Book III Part I

"Wadanaetkasa?" the Cruel One said suddenly.
Pechka looked cautiously from the side of her eyes in the direction of the barbaric sounds.
"Wada." the black-haired woman said again, pointing to the water gourd that sat between Pechka's knees.
"Mozjatsa?" she added, raising the inflection as if Pechka was a child or mentally ill.
A sudden raise of the Cruel One's hand made Pechka flinch, but the woman was only holding her hand open as if to receive something. Pechka understood and took the flask from between her knees and hesitantly handed it towards the Amazoi. The woman grabbed the gourd, but didn't take it from her. It took Pechka a moment, but she caught on that something wasn't right. She looked into the eyes of the Cruel One, who sat smiling at her.
Pechka quickly understood she was being toyed with. She let go of the flask and it fell to the ground. The suddenness and boldness of her own actions had her averting her eyes so as to not be seen as aggressive.
Pechka's heart started to race in anticipation of the Amazoi's reaction, but the Cruel One simply sneered at her. Pechka quickly turned her head to look down the valley as she ate. From her side view, she could see the woman kept staring at her.
"Eedna... ilak... kosa." she asked something again in her horrible sounding language.
Pechka kept looking straight ahead. She wished desperately the women wouldn't take time to try and communicate with her. It was extremely confusing to the emotions.
Pechka now found herself debating whether she should communicate with these women or remain silent in her anger. Although keeping her mouth shut would show them her mind, to befriend them in some way may spare her certain unpleasantries when they finally arrived at their village.
Pechka could use an ally in all this.
Even if such help came from those who took her and killed her husband. If it meant returning home, she could stifle her pride. If not, then she would strangle herself with cloth or rope. She hoped, at least, that would anger these women after all their trouble to get her.
There were far worse things than death.
The Cruel One suddenly thumped the flat of her chest, catching Pechka's attention.
"Da-e. Da-e-la ... Nay Dala. Dae-la." she said, indicating herself before pointing to Pechka, "Eed-na... ilak... ko-sa?" she repeated slowly.
'My name, huh?' thought Pechka.
And with that simple thought, her mind started to spin. She felt as though her lips were cemented with the thickest mud and her jaws clenched shut by the strongest hands. But she fought her pride and managed to reluctantly deliver her name and title.
"UsterovboetpechkatanundoferdashagoltVenatchol." she replied, 'I am Pechka, daughter of Chief Doferdash of the Venatch Tribe.'
Daela pulled her head back with widened eyes, and shook her hands at her.
"Aiyaaa... lofer-bat, lofer-bat..." she said, with motions with her hands to slow down.
Pechka sat reeling with anger at herself for having given this Beast the satisfaction of hearing her speak. The words sat heavy at the back of her mouth, as she once again envisioned these three women just handing her over to the men of their village like a prize. Gradually, the fear of provoking this Daela to violence over-took her. She took a deep breath and raised her head as proudly as she could.
"Pechka." she said simply, lightly patting her chest in the manner Daela had done.
"Peshka." repeated Daela.
"Nitfar." Pechka corrected with a stern shake of her head, "PeCH...ka" she emphasised.
"Pe-SH-ka." came the same improper pronunciation.
The two daughters of chiefs sat staring at each other a moment until Pechka figured this woman was messing around with her again. Pechka broke eye contact and looked back towards the valley.
She could see it was no use.
There would be no bartering here. No mercy.
Just as the men from her village beat insolent slaves, so would these women do to her eventually.
Then they would return to the fire and laugh with the others as she cried from the pain and cruelty.
No, she would not cry again.
She would give the Cruel One no more amusement or satisfaction, no matter what the cost.

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