Taptaptaptap. The regular striking of the mallet on the needle felt as if it were etching the words into her brain. She knew it was words because she had heard them talking about it when they thought she wasn't listening. When they thought the pain and annoyance had gotten the best of her and they let her rest for a few minutes before starting again. Her master had chosen her from among his slaves for this task, commanding her to report to the animal handler. She suspected he chose her because she was the least beautiful of his slaves, it wouldn't matter if her hair was shorn or if her scalp bled from the punishment they were inflicting on her. She knew it was punishment, she had been the one to rebuff his son's advances, fleeing rather than obeying his commands. But why this particular form of punishment, she had no idea. They had cut her hair first, letting her long brown locks fall to the floor around her. She hadn't cried then, although the sight of all of her beautiful hair falling to the floor had made her want to. Her mother had loved her hair. Had told her that among her people, the so-called barbarians of the north, that long hair was a woman's pride. She was a slave as her mother had been. There was no pride left to be had. It took a year for her hair to grow to a length where it looked normal. A year of being locked up in a small room, fed each day but penned like an animal. She counted the days by the small bones she kept from each dinner. They let her out and sent her to her new master. He was a hard man, born of a military set rather than the soft patricians of her former master. He took her into his house without a word and shaved her head himself. He read whatever had been rattled there and his face became grim. "Revenge it shall be then."