Fatima was from North Africa and a fairly recent arrival. She was young, with cappuccino-colored skin and long dark hair. She would have been excepti...nally beautiful, were it not for a scar that ran across both cheeks and through her mouth. She had apparently offended her lord and paid a permanent price with a swing of his sword. Samira was Macedonian and much older. She had been with the Count for a long time. But like Fatima, she was flawed, in that she only had one hand. Once a talented. Her ribs were bruised and there were some nasty cuts under her lovely, battered breasts. Those sturdy thighs and well turned shins were covered in cuts and grazes, her whole body was a mass of angry red marks and ugly bruises."Just like mine", thought Katie. "That was quite a day!"And she fell asleep, still lovingly cradling Angie."Back to normal today, eh? Bozo. Peace has returned"John stood, exactly on the spot where yesterday's fight had taken place. The sand was smooth, now, having been. More

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