Koriand'r followed her sister along the narrow street. She had been quiet for the last few minutes, meekly trying to keep up with Komand'r's rushing feet. Now, though, she spoke.
"Sister? Why did those men call us 'nothing'?" She was confused, and also hurt by the malice she sensed in the words she had heard. She was afraid to ask her sister what it meant, but too curious to remain still.
Komand'r slowed her angry pace. Her tone kept all of her hate, though. "It's because we're Tamaranians."
". . . I . . . I do not understand . . ."
The elder sister snorted. "They think we are nothing. That we're worthless, beneath their notice."
"But . . . but why?" They were a proud people, a warrior people. Why would they be viewed with contempt?
Komand'r held her head high, even as her tone turned mocking. "Because we surrendered. Because we 'let ourselves' be conquered by the Citadel. We couldn't defend our planet, and we're nothing but slaves now."
She turned her head to look at the young Koriand'r. "But they're wrong to think that. They are the ones who are nothing, Kori. They may not know it, but someday they will learn." She tossed her head, a proud look in their face. "Just remember that. We are not nothing. The ones who think so, are." As if she was in front of her mockers, Komand'r's stride lengthened and became smooth, gliding, haughty. A reproof to all who disrespected her. An unbending, undying refusal to be seen as a slave.
Koriand'r thoughtfully followed her sister and asked no more questions.