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For a moment it looked like Rowenna was going to actually continue being companionable. Javan’s smile got a little wider and his eyes a little more eager as she told him she did once have a filly. Perhaps she would tell him what the young horse was like, what color she was, and what Rowenna had named her.
But no. Suddenly the happiness seemed to fade and her smile left not only her lips but also her eyes. Once more a hard line came up around the muscle in her jaw. She was composed, humorless, cold, and her talk went back to the job at hand.
“I did choose this work, believe it or not. I do this to remind me that I am an escaped slave and an orphan.” She looked at Javan with the look he’d often gotten from his mother or older sisters to make sure he understood something he didn’t want to understand.
“Well,” Javan said, a little ruffled at her behavior - her closing up like a clam shell. “Well, I don’t think that makes much sense. You’re not a slave any more, that’s what I think, and you shouldn’t act like one.”
She ignored him, seemingly, and went on scrubbing the floor, using both hands on the brush. “You shouldn’t look at the ground so much,” Javan told her. “And at people’s feet. You’re better than that. You can look people in the face now.”
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