True to her master, she waited. She waited, anticipating the moment when she would be able to go into the city and punish the evil people who so troubled her master and his God. She would do well, and she would show him how all the pain and discipline was worth it. She would demonstrate that she was worthy of him, and of his God. But first, she had to wait. She sat on a black, moss-covered log. Occasionally she would rock her legs back and idly kick it with her heel, denting the rotten wood and scattering strange little crawling things to scurry across her legs. Sometimes she sang the lullaby she had used to sing to Rose. Sometimes she wished her new master would sing to her. However, even if he didn’t, she knew that she was special to him simply because he took no pleasure in correcting her. Unlike her first master who enjoyed punishing any error until the prospect of pain was an overwhelming shadow over every step she took, her new master only beat her when she did something truly wrong.
