The night was a frantic one. Fires along the road, whaling, shouting – confusing even if it was a town she knew. But Meena didn’t know it. She had barely seen it by daylight.
They would of course accuse her slow pace. not the meager food they gave her most days. Most days except the performance ones. Then she was allowed stamina.
Some props she currently would travel with them, on hired hand’s backs, some would brought from other villages, some would be possessions of the local temple. Each came with an unburdened minder to make sure it made it’s way back to the appropriate place when the time came.
She twined her arms together, threading them around each other, keeping the graceful flow moving. Four hands, only one containing a trinket she’d touch again after tonight. She felt the dirt beneath every footstep, the burned dry air on her bosom. She could not stop. She could not remain static for a moment. Being blamed for an inconvenience and being punished for it were different things.
There would be no addressing the crowd, no calming them.
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