But during the night....when we dream...

Nothing of interest occurred before they stopped for their midday meal. And nothing of interest occurred the rest of the day!

But in the meantime while all this non-interesting stuff is occurring this day, the twins are discussing their options for making a future for themselves.

Over lunch they'd agreed that as before the idea of the occupation of "exotic dancer" or even something more demeaning. They are warriors of a warrior race and are above such things, even IF they have the looks for such . . .callings. Pride is what they have and would rather die than give up their pride.

They both agree that perhaps the best option would be something along the lines of their original occupation: the way of the weapon. A calling which was needful for all members of the tribe to be able to defend the whole . . . by violence due to a violent environment.

Now that said, that had a lot of leeway on just HOW to do it.

"Can't say I fancy being some kind of highway man or whatever," Hilda says to Gilda uneasily. "Can't put a finger on why but it just seems . . . beneath us!"

Indeed, thinking about it made both feel oddly out of sorts. Didn't the entire tribe do that on a regular basis, as a whole: preying on the occasional human trade caravan? Their memories of such times brought no discomfort to them back them, but now?

Of course, WE of the audience have an inkling why Hilda and Gilda have qualms NOW about stealing from caravans. Kind of residual leftover personality traits from their old lives, you could say that survived the "rearrangement" of their mental furniture with the transformation and all that jazz.

. . .

Bodyguard? Doable, but they might have to travel down into (shudder) the temperate regions. It wasn't a life fit for a wolfhound, much less for THEM. They'd risk heat stroke like. . . every day, right?

Nope, the best bet looked to be perhaps try to catch a hitch with the very caravans they'd used to (they falsely believe) preyed upon. Might work. Not unheard of, even though it was the job of outcasts (like they both were now). Not like they could return, now.

Best not to deny reality, right?

Other options, anyway were discussed but alas the caravan guard angle is the only good and doable gig. At least the trading post they'd been generally heading for at the beginning of the day (a shady place for ALL types, really) wasn't going to be a dead end....

Dinner caught and eaten, the somewhat glum giantesses set up camp, strip, and retire for the night.

1. And have the most . . . disturbing dreams . . . .

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