I would like to take this time to give special thanks to the
following people: BJ, my lovely lil' beta and helper of ideas (She
stops the writer's blocks! BJ's my good luck charm!), Ivan (Lady
Bethia's Husband, he helped do the historical research for this
story. Love you, Ivan!), and of course Lady Bethia, for her hard work
on spell checking and beta work on this story. Oh, and before I
forget, I would also like to thank the lovely Ponderosa for doing
commison artwork for this story and my dear friend Diibish who also
did artwork for the story! I love you all!!
 

_____________________________________________________________________
 

Like most days in old New Orleans, it was sunny with barely a cloud
in the sky. You could hear the rumbling of horse carriages and
buggeys on the streets, and the use of the French language from most
of the natives. There were a few plantations miles away, where slaves
would work to pick cotton or tabbaco plants, and there were the slave
markets, where those of color or "witches" would try to avoid. This
was old New Orleans... this was May 17th, 1835.

______________________________________________________________________
 

Remy LeBeau was a street thief. He had been abandoned once he reached
the age of six, due to his strange eyes. His own parents called him
the "Devil's Child" or "Le Diable Blanc" for his apperence. He
remember how they oftened would try and "beat" the devil out of his
body, force him to sit in a room and try to repent for the way he
looked and the so called "evil" that was inside of him. When all of
their efforts had failed, he was left to fend for himself on the cold
streets. That was around ten years ago, and now he just lived in the
shadows, dressed in some old clothes a rich man had thrown in his
trash can. The young man was of Cajun blood, not pure French and
often hated for that as well. There was no love for the young man,
and he no longer felt like he should love anyone, ethier.
 

The streets had turned Remy into a cold hearted theif. He often had
the only fear of being discovered and forced to the slave markets,
like others whom had strange powers. People like him were
called "Witches"... they where hated and shunned by all of society.
If one was found, theyw ere often killed in the streets or brought to
the slave markets to be sold as slaves. A slight shiver went up his
spine as a thought of being sold to some man as a labor worker hit
him. He had to becareful on the streets, but he had to survive as
well.
 

The young man watched from the shadows of an alley as a bakery
started to open up. The scent of fresh crosounts and bread filled the
air, making him salvate slightly. It had been a good day or two since
he had anything to eat, and the store owner looked too old to chase
him down the cobble stone streets. Perhaps this would be an easy meal
for the theif to get. Quickly, Remy ran towards the bakery, trying
not to be seen as his hand moved to take one of the loafs of bread
out on display. As soon as his hand touched it, he felt a stick hit
him in the back, forcing a cry of pain to escape his lips, and his
body to fall to the ground. The old man had seemed to pack a strong
amount of strength, and Remy had underestimated him.
 

"Theif! How dare you even attempt to steal from me! I should call
the... " The old store owner looked down at the young man before him,
taking in the sight of his strange red on black eyes. The eyes of the
evil. "Merdi... Saints perseve our souls... Le Diable Blanc."
 

The man was now in shock over the sight of Remy's eyes. Now was his
time to escape, but that opertunity was soon deminised. Other store
owners hurried over to see whatw as going on, and they surrounded him
like a bunch of blow flies over a corpse. There was no escape, and
now he would probably be killed. All over a loaf of bread.
 

"He's one of them witches!" A man shouted, pointing down at Remy. "We
should kill him right now, before he tries to cast a spell on us!"
 

"Why kill him?" Asked the bakery owner, looking towards the men. "He
ruined three cents worth of bread by touching it with his slimey
fingers. Perhaps I should just sell him at the markets to make up for
the loss! I could even profit, he looks young and strong enough to
work in a plantation..."
 

"Good idea! It's better to make a profit off of the living, because
you cannot profit from the dead." Another man stated. He bend down,
helping to drag Remy up to his feet, while another quickly grabbed
some rope from his shop and started to bind his hands with it. "Let
us hurry! The Markets close by sunset!"
 

______________________________________________________________________
 

Remy groaned and struggled weakly with the men who had captured him.
His luck had finally run out, and now one of his worst nightmares was
coming true. He was going to be sold at the slave market, just like
how the baker would sell his bread. He would be put on display and
given to the highest paying customer, and there was no escape for
him. His strange eyes widened as he was dragged towards the market. A
man in a tall top hat was standing on a stage, showing off a
beautiful colored woman with long white hair. He calimed her to be a
witch as well, one with the powers that could control the weather and
make the crops of a plantation owner's land grow to the best. He
listened to the bids, then watched as she was sold to a man with
blond hair for around five dollars. Before he could look back at her,
he was already being shoved on stage by the Bakery owner and several
of the shop keepers.
 

"Looks like we have one last slave to bid off today, gentlemen" Said
the man in the large top hat. He quickly grabbed Remy by his long
auburn hair, dragging him closer on the stage so all the buyers could
see. " He appears to be some witch, like the last one, but with eyes
of the devil. This boy looks young and strong and will probably live
a long time because of his youth. Let us start the bidding at a
penny!"
 

"I'll pay a penny for him!" Shouted one man from his seat.
 

"I'll pay two cents for the boy!" Shouted another.
 

"I'll buy him for a full dollar!" That voice stunned the crowd. No
one appeared to be able to beat this man's bid. It was the same blond
haired man whom had bought the so called "Weather Witch" from
eariler. He gave a gentle smile to the crowd, knwoning no one would
be able to beat him, and this "witch" was going to be his as well.
 

"This slave is sold to Mister Oliver Trask for one full dollar!"
Shouted the man in the large top hat, slamming his hand upon the
potem near Remy. "The auctions are now closed, come back again
tomarrow and we will have a new shipment fo slaves in for all of you
to bid on!"
 

Before a simple word or protest could be uttered from his lips, Remy
found himself being dragged off the platform he had been forced on,
and towards his new owner. He notice that this Oliver Trask had a
slight accent, and figured him to be a Yankee from New York or some
other state. Remy also took notice of his eyes, they seemed so cold
and cruel, just staring down at him as if he were nothing. He gasped
slightly, feeling the man's hand grab ahold of his jaw, and forcing
his head to the side, as if looking for marks.
 

"My, what a pretty boy you are. I'm sure I will make good use of you
on the plantation." Oliver stated, quickly letting go of Remy's face
and moving his hands to contect the rope that bound the young man's
wrists together with the beautiful colored woman's. He grabbed the
free end of the rope and started walking with it, as if the two new
witches he had aquired were nothing more than prized horses he had
bought. He lead them over to a horse and carriage, taking the rope
that he had and tying it to the back of the carriage, as he got in,
shouting at the driver to bring him home, forcing the two slaves to
walk behind him.
 

______________________________________________________________________
_
 
 

Remy did not know how far he had walked behind the carriage. If he
chould count, it would probably be a large number, something big and
outragous. There was a large frown upon his face as he continued to
walk on, the young Cajun's feet becoming sore from all of the
walking, but at least he had shoes on. He looked back at the colored
woman who was sold to Trask, right before he was. She had long,
beautiful white hair, that reminded him of the clouds in the sky, her
skin was not as dark as other colored people that he had seen. It was
abit lighter and looked rather soft. He was saddened she had no shoes
on her feet, and thought of how wrong he was to complain in his own
mind about his own feet, when hers probably hurt much more. He
noticed the heavy cotton dress she wore, probably made by herself or
another slave, and then quickly adverted his eyes, fearing that his
stares were making her uncomfortable.
 

"You plan to run, don't you?" The young colored woman spoke to Remy,
in such a gentle voice. He never remembered anyone talking to him
like this before. Her lovely voice rang quietly in his ears, once
more. "That is a terrible idea... "
 

"Ah ain' gonna stay in some Plantation as a slave! Once dese ropes be
off mah body, ah'm gonna run..." Remy spoke, his native, Cajun tongue
showing off his colorful accent. There was no way in hell he would
stay around with some Yankee Plantation Owner, he was going to run,
and going to get away, as well.
 

"Men like Master often punish slaves greatly for trying to run away.
I have seen it before." The young woman's eyes lowered to the ground
as the two continued on, the Plantation now within their
sights. "Just give in, do as he says and I assure you there will be
no pain... "
 

"Never... ah'll never call him Mas'er or anyt'ing!" Remy looked back
at her, his exotic eyes watching as her head lowered while walking. "
Ah ain' gots a Mas'er, ah never will!" His frown grew, now seeing the
large Plantation before his eyes. It was huge, with large trees on
ethier side of the road that led up to the main house. Miles and
miles of cotton fields could be seen before his eyes, each field with
five slaves working on it. He noticed a few, small looking houses for
the slaves far off from the main house, a large house for the
kitchen, and what looked like a barn in the distance. He took note of
the main house's exterior. It was built like the mansion he had seen
in some parts of New Orleans. The carriage stopped right by on of the
slave houses, and Remy watched as Trask got out, walking towards the
lovely African woman and untying the rope around her neck and wrists.
 

"You, my lovely "Weather Witch" shall make the clouds around my
Plantation disappear. " Trask stated, pointing up towards the cloudy
sky above them. " And since you control the weather, I shall name you
Storm. A fitting name for a slave such as yourself. "
 

Remy was amazed as the young colored woman raised her hands into the
air, her lovely blue eyes turning completely white, and the sky above
them started to clear. What was left of the daytime was now showing,
a pink sky and the sun could now be seen towards the west of them. He
had never seen such power in his life. Did she know voodoo, or was
she really a "witch" like himself. His gaze was soon lowered, when
Trask began to untie him, removing the ropes on his wrists and neck,
as he had done to Storm. As soon as his neck was free from the ropes,
Remy bolted from task, running as fast as he could.
 

"Someone stop him!! He's escaping!!" Trask shouted to his guards.
They were horsemen who watched over the slaves as they worked, making
sure they did as told and often flogged them if they moved too slow
or too care-lessly. One of them quickly rode onfront of Remy, forcing
the young man to fall back on his feet, to avoid running into a
horse. Another came in from behind the fallen Cajun, jumping off his
horse and quickly tying a rope around his wrists. He jumped back on
his horse and before Remy could run again, he started to ride towards
Trask, dragging Remy along the dirt path when his horse moved too
fast.
 

Trask walked over towards Remy, looking down at the man who was
dragged over towards him. His eyes showed a fury in them as he
grabbed the young man by his hair, forcing a cry of pain to escape
Remy's lips, and his eyes to meet that of his angry master. "You
pathetic boy! You dare try to run away from me!? After what I paid
for you, you ungreatful slave!" Trask swung his hand towards Remy,
quickly backfisting the boy's face and leaving a red mark on the
right side of it. He then grabbed the young man's shirt, ripping it
open and stripping it from his body. "I guess I'll have to teach you
your place here! Tie him to the tree by the slave house, and get my
whip! I shall make an example of him towards thw other slaves! No one
runs away from Oliver Trask!"
 

Remy found himself being dragged towards a tree right behind one of
the slave houses. The horseman threw a rope over a sturdy branch,
then gave it a good tug, forcing Remy's hands over his head in a
rather painful manor. His back was towards everyone, and he could not
see who was watching and who wasn't, but he did hear voices and
footsteps towards his hung body, and a hand pulling at his ponytail,
forcing his head back slightly.
 

"Now all of you will watch! This is what happens if you try and run
away from me!" Trask shouted, looking over towards the small
gathering of slaves that were made to come and bare witness to Remy's
Punishment. One of the horseman moved over to Trask, handing him his
whip, a cat of nine tails which had sharp metal pieces imbedded in
each section of it. Trask moved a few feet away from Remy and began
to swing the whip over his head, without warnning, he cracked it
along Remy's back, forcing the young man to scream in pain, cutting
open his flesh and leaving a bloody welt behind.
 

Remy was screamming in complete pain, he could feel the salty tears
escape his eyes and travel down his chiseled face. Trask would swing
the whip around, and Remy would never know when he was going to be
hit with it. He was always kept off guard, thinking he would stop,
only to be lashed with it once more. His throat began to get sore
from the horrible screams of agony that escape his lips, his back was
completely covered in blood, and there were now a total of twenty
five welts on his back, each one over-lapping the other one. Trask
finally stopped, leaving Remy to hang by his arms, for his legs
finally gave out in the pain.
 

"Let this be a lesson to anyone that tries to escape this Planation!"
Trask shouted, handing the now bloody whip to one of his
horsemen. "Let his scars be a reminder to all of you! And if you dare
try to run away from me again, boy, I will have your legs cut off and
feed to the pigs! Now back to work! All of you!"
 

The next sound Remy heard, was the large group of slaves leaving him,
leaving him to hang by that rope tied about his slender wrists. He
could feel the blood running all the way down his back, and his arms
growing numb from hanging by them for so long. Trask moved back over
to Remy, standing infront of the young boy with a sadistic smile on
his face. He opened his mouth to speak, only to be slapped once more
by Trask.
 

"You were never given premission to speak to your Master, boy!" Trask
yelled, his eyes moving towards the tears that stained that handsome
face. "You are quite interesting... such a strong will you display.
You've never been a slave before, that I can tell, otherwise you
would have been subimissive like Storm over there. It looks like I am
going to have to break you, boy... and break you hard. Tonight, you
are going to stay outside, no food, no water. You are just going to
remain here as you are, until you releaize your place in society. If
you do not call me Master or attempt to fight me once more, I will
turn you around and whip the front of you, until it is as bloody as
your back!" Without anymore words or insults, Trask simply walked
away from Remy, leaving him hanging rather painfully by his wrists.
 

__________________________________________________________________
 

Once Trask had left Remy, the sun started to disappear, and the
slaves were no longer working, insted them all went into the slave
houses to cook dinner and get ready for bed. Remy could hear them,
some soudned cheerful, others angry at the situation of being slaves,
and many fearing what could happen if they disobey their Master, like
Remy had done. Though one woman was rather silent in the slave house,
tonight. Insted of talking with the others, she grabbed a bucket and
a wooden cup from a table, walking outside with it. Luckily for her,
no one noticed.
 

The young colored woman with white hair, the woman named Storm
walked out of one of the slave houses, carrying a bucket and walking
towards Remy, who was still in much pain. She took a cup and dipped
it into the bucket, which was filled with cold, fresh water from a
near-by stream. Her hands carefully placed the wooden up to his lips,
allowing the younger man to sip from it. Her afce saddened when he
started drinking the water as if he were dying, gulping it up rather
quickly and allowing the water he missed to spill down his chest.
 

"You cannot keep doing this, child" Storm spoke gently, slowly
pulling the empty wooden cup from his lips. "Why do you not just give
in? I told you it would have been less painful if you did not
runaway. Now Master is furious with you. You will forever be known as
a runaway, and be treated badly for it. I have seen this happen to
many of my slave brothers and sisters before... "
 

"Ah ain' a slave, chere... " Remy stammered, his back was hurting him
even more, now, and he could feel a few bugs started crawling over
him, or was it just the feeling of the blood dripping down his bare
back? "Ah ain' like you... ah can' be like you... "
 

"You are talking foolish, child. If you continue defying Master, he
will eventually kill you. I must go now, before I am caught. I pray
to the Goddess you come to your senses, and that you stay save,
tonight." Storm gathered up the wooden cup and bucket she brought to
Remy and started to head back into the slave house.
 

"Chere?"
 

"Yes, child?" She slowly turned around, looking at the back of the
young man who hung form the tree, wondering what else he had to say
to her.
 

"T'ank you... fer de water. " Remy tried to turn his head and look
back at Storm, trying to give her a reasuring smile. "Dat was de
nicest t'ing anyone ever did fer mah... an' mah name ain' "child"...
it's Remy."
 

"You are welcome... Remy." With those final words, Storm left Remy by
himself. Saddened that the poor boy was acting so foolishly. He was
going to suffer a great amount of pain with such a free spirit, and
it seemed there was nothing she could do to change that. With a sigh
escaping her lips, she placed down the bucket of water where it had
been and went to her bed, praying that Remy would come to his senses
by morning, and avoid a rather painful experience.
 

____________________________________________________________________
 

Remy had not fallen alseep that night. His arms felt so sore, like
they were going to just pop off him at any given moment. His back was
now covered in open welts and various bug bites from over the night,
and his ankles had been gnawed at by vermin in the area, leaving
swollen looking bite marks about them. He could hear the familar
walking pattern of that Yankee slaver, moving closer to him until he
was infront of his body. His strange, yet demon like eyes watched as
Trask looked at him, as if he were nothing more than a piece of meat
hanging by a rope in a meat shop.
 

"Have you come to your senses, boy?" Trask asked him in that Yankee
accented voice, looking at the young man with interest. "I came up
with a name for you overnight. You are unpreditable, much like the
Queen's Gambit chess play a friend of mine uses, there-fore I shall
call you Gambit. If you had another name before the one I just gave
you now, you should forget it. For it shall never be spoken again."
 

Remy only glared at him. "Gambit" was going to be his new name? His
eyes narrowed at Trask, watching him smirk and rub his chin, as if
awaiting for Remy to thank him for this new name. No chance in hell
that was going to happen. Insted, Remy spat at Trask, making the man
angry, more angry than he had been the night before. A strong slap
came across his face, enough to knock Remy's head to the side and
loosen the ribbon that kept his long auburn hair in a ponytail.
 

"How dare you treat your Master like this!!" Shouted the enraged
slaver. He came prepared with the same whip he used on Remy's back
the other night. He singled a horseman over and had him change the
direction of the rope Remy was hanging form. His back was now towards
Trask and the large tree, and he was now facing the slave houses.
Remy could see the other slaves now at work, and the woman he met
last night, the woman named Storm watching him from a few cotton
plants. Her eyes were filled with such saddness as Trask moved back
infront of Remy. Trask swung the cat of nine tails over his head, and
quickly struck Remy in the chest, leaving behind an open welt like
the ones on his back.
 

The whip hurt far more on his chest than it had upon Remy's back, and
he let out a cry of pain, loud enough for the whole plantation to
hear. Blood began to drip down his chest, which made Oliver Trask
smile, much like a chesire cat. His face quickly turned to a frown as
he looked back at the boy and began to yell at him. "You shall call
me your Master, boy! Say it and your name and I will stop!"
 

Tears flooded Remy's eyes as he felt the leather and mentl parts of
the whip hit his chest, ripping open his flesh and leaving behind a
welt. Remy found his mouth open, a terrible scream escapping it, one
of such suffering and pain, enough to make the skin crawl on another
being. He watched helplessly as another welt was added, then
another... His screams only got worse and worse and his throat
eventually getting sore from all of his cries of agony.
 

Oliver Trask could not get enough of the boy's screams. They were
music to his ears, while to others, a horrible experience. He happily
swung his whip above his head, letting it circle a few moments,
before striking his new slave once more on the chest. He could see
the blood dripping and rolling down that thin chest, the salty tears
of the boy escaping down his chin and landing in the wounds he
created, making a much more painful experience. He was about to hit
him with his whip for the twenty first time, when he heard a weak
stammering from the boy's lips.
 

"M-mah name... is... Gambit. M'sorry.... Mas'er... " Remy stammered
weakly. the pain was too much for him and Remy felt as if he would
die if such torture were to continue. He had no choice, he had to
give up his name, his freedom, everything if he wanted this agonizing
pain to stop. Remy watched as Trask moved closer to him, placing the
end of the whip under his chin, lifting his head up to look into the
older man's cold, cruel eyes.
 

"Say it louder, boy... Louder!" The demmand was made, and Trask
watched his helpless slave. The young man's lips were twitching as
his mouth opened to speak, to say the things he wanted to hear, his
slave finally giving up and accepting him as a Master, and his new
name.
 

"M-mah... n-name.... is.... Gamb-bit... M's-sorry... Mas'er... "
Spoke Remy, once more. But this time, he spoke as loud as he could,
the pain becomming unbareable for him, and finally, he allowed
himself to slip into the dark obyess of unconsiousness.
 

"Someone cut him down from that tree and bring him back to the slave
house! He will start his work in the morning!" Trask shouted at one
of the slaves, watching as one of them walked over with a small
knife, cutting the rope two inches before it met Gambit's wrists.
Trask couldn't help but smile, watching the young man's body fall
right before his feet, and the slave untying his hands, then dragging
his body back to the Slave House for the rest of the day. The little
runaway might have given in because of the pain, but Trask was going
to make sure he did not just say that to avoid getting hit anymore.
No, this slave was going to pay during his entire life at this
Plantation. Gambit would be punished for making him look bad, at all
costs.
 

___________________________________________________________________
 

Remy... no... his name was now Gambit, awoke from the darkness of
unconsiousness. Perhaps it was all just a bad dream, that he would
find himself sleeping in the bayou, free from slavery, and happy.
Once his eyes started to open, he realized it was not a bad dream, it
was reality. He found himself laying on his side, a surge of pain
started to fly up his chest and back when he tried to move. A forced
cry of incredible discomfort escaped his bruised lips, which made
someone walk over to him, the woman named Storm. She slowly knelt
down by his side, placing her gentle hand on his arm.
 

"Gambit, please, do not move, not yet." The woman pleaded with him,
moving her body so he could see her face. "The more you move, the
more your wounds will hurt. Just lay still, for now."
 

"It h-hurts... " He was still stammering, his voice quivering with a
mixture of pain and fear when Gambit spoke. Tears filled his strange
eyes as the young man tried to look up at Storm, despite the fact he
was so weak and in so much pain. "It... It h-hurts bad..."
 

"I know, Gambit... it will hurt badly for a few days, then it will
start to scar over. I wished you would have just given in, and not
shown so much anger towards Master..." A few tears fell from her
lovely blue eyes, as she looked down upon the young man. She could
not imagine how much pain he was in, but knew in her heart it was
probably grave, for how he cried and screamed at times. Her hand
gently ran through his long auburn strands of hair, trying to calm
him down like a mother would do to a child. Perhaps a change of
conversation would calm the young man down, even take his mind off
the pain. "Gambit, what is it like?"
 

"W-what... is what like, Storm?" Gambit moved his eyes to look up at
her, trying not to cry anymore. He must have looked so weak to
everyone at the plantation, now. The pain was still surging over his
chest and back, but his mind was curious over what Storm was asking
him.
 

"What is freedom like, Gambit? You were free before you became a
slave... You see, I was never free. I was born and raised as a slave,
and always wondered what freedom was like. Please... tell me." Her
voice dripped with honesty as she spoke. Storm was born and raised as
a slave, nothing more. She never had experienced freedom in her
entire life, though asking the young man such a thing while he was in
a great deal of pain made her feel selfish.
 

"Freedom... it was beautiful... " Gambit swallowed hard, just looking
up at Storm. Her face was so honest and beautiful, unlike anyone else
he had ever seen in his life. She spoke so nicely towards him, as
well. No one had ever treated him with such kindness or concern for
his health. Taking a deep breathing and trying to fight back the pain
he felt, Remy continued to talk about the freedom he once had, all
lost over a piece of bread. "Ah... ah coulda done whatever ah
wanted.... go where ever ah wanted... but it was limited... ah...
ah 'ad to hide in de shadows... 'cause if someone saw mah eyes...
dey'd hurt mah... or send me... to a place like dis... But ah... ah
took it all fer granted, every bit o' it... now ah'm here, Storm. An'
mah life... mah life feels like she is over."
 

Storm felt awful, from what Gambit was telling her, she had started
to feel a great amount of jealousy inside of her. He was able to live
free at one time, where she had not. But she realized that when he
spoke, the pain seemed less and less, for he was not thinking about
it. Despite her growing jealousy and the guilt that came along with
it, Storm reached her hand out to the side of his face, gently
stroking it. "Please, Gambit... tell me more of your freedom... I
would like to hear more."
 

For an hour or so, Gambit told her tales of his freedom. Of being
able to sleep and wake when ever he wanted. How he would lay in the
swamps and bayous of New Orleans, listening to the crickets sing
their songs of joy and sorrow, as his eyes would gaze upon the stars.
 

Storm listened to his stories carefully, picturing every moment of
freedom Gambit had experience in her mind. It was such a beautiful
sight in her head, and such a wonderful feeling. He soon stopped
speaking all together, right in the middle of the smells of fresh
flowers and a bakery where spoken of. Concerned, Storm leaned over,
making sure he was alright, only to notice the young man had finally
fallen asleep. His own talking and images had taken away his pain,
and drifted him into the lovely world he spoke of in his mind. A
smile came across her flawless face, as she bent down and placed a
kiss on his forehead.
 

"Good night, my dear friend... and thank you. You have given me
something no one has every given me... a feeling of hope, and a place
to go to in my dreams." Storm spoke softly, leaving Gambit's bedside
to move towards her own, where she too fell asleep, and into the
lovely world Gambit had spoken of, a world of freedom.
 

___________________________________________________________________
 

The sun had started to rise, and the sounds of the rooster's call
could be heard. Gambit let out a groan of pain, his chest and back
still hurting rather badly as he sat up in his straw bed. He knew
that he had to work today, or else Trask threatened to do more harm
to him if there was any form of refusal. His head turned to the side,
finding the shirt he wore when he first came to this horrid place by
his bed. It had a large tear in the middle of it, but he could still
wear it. Storm must have been kind enough to save it for him, when
the Master ripped it from his body and towards the ground during his
whippings. Gambit shook his head, trying to get the thoughts of those
events out of his mind, as he placed the shirt on his body, getting
off of his bed, and heading out of the slave house to do his chores.
 

Storm was already up and out of bed. Gambit was amazed that she was
up so early, or was he late for his work on the Plantation? Ethier
way, she slowly turned to him with a smile on her face, handing him a
straw basket. "How are you this morning, brother?"
 

"Sore... m'back an' chest still hurt really bad." Gambit spoke with
all honesty, as he tried to keep his shirt closed, though it now had
a few buttons missing. His hand moved over, taking the basket from
Storm's hand, then looking up at her, rather puzzled. " An' why do
you call mah broder? Ah don' understand, Storm... ah ain' been loved
or nuthin' , yet you givin' mah comfort when ah in pain, an' now de
title o' yah "broder"."
 

"Because you gave me something wonderful in return, last night,
Gambit. You gave me a wonderful dream, and you spoke to me as a
person. No one has ever spoken to me or told me such stories like
that in my entire life. For that, I am greatful. That is why I call
you my brother." Her slender hands moved towards Gambit, and gave him
his basket. Storm smiled as she started to make her way to the cotton
fields. "Come along, now, Brother. It is time to work. If we do not
get to picking the cotton soon, Master will have you punished again."
 

A slow sigh escaped Gambit's lips, as he followed Storm towards the
cotton fields. This was his life now, a slave for a terrible Yankee
Master, and there was nothing he could do. This was the start of a
new life... and a horrible nightmare that refused to end.