““Easy does it, boys. Easy does it. We’re not in a race, we’re taking it slow and steady.” A hand on the shoulder of one boy easing him away, and Bradhai reached down to tuck the offending branch into place with a practiced move. “There. See?” The slave, unable to meet his master’s eyes, or even look into his face, nodded, reaching out to – slowly, carefully – do the same with the next branch, as his companions waited, silently willing the master to not notice them. Bradhai, those slave...s already forgotten, moved on, walking a careful path through the clumped vines, his gaze moving over the yard with a practiced slide, able to pick out the worker who was having trouble, or doing it wrong, without being distracted by the slow, steady movements of those doing it right. He knew from personal experience that pruning the vines was brutal, backbreaking work, on your knees and reaching up. Each spring it took even experienced slaves a day or two to recover the rhythm. He had enough slaves to deal with the work; as master, he did not have to be out here himself.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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