THE  ADVENTURES  OF  BONNIE  &  GEORGE  (&  MAC)
				by Van © 2021
			Chapter 6

Mac's cunning plan was to relax in her leafy hide at the edge of the road until after midnight.  Unfortunately, she was interrupted and the plan didn't even make it to the end of sunset.  There was still plenty of light shining from behind the mountain when suddenly...

Dragons!

Many dragons!

In retrospect, it shouldn't have been all that surprising.  Mac had watched the dragons fly away from the mountain at early dawn, and now they were returning.  Apparently (obviously) they were coming home to their... nests? ...lairs? ...burrows?  Anyway, after a hard day of... doing whatever it is dragons do during daylight hours, they were home, no doubt looking forward to barrel-size cups of hot tea and crumpets the size of freight wagons.

"Thump... thump... thump..."  The lowest were close enough that Mac could just make out the beat of their wings.

Before, at the border of the grassland and the trees at the very base of the mountain, the horde of winged beasts had been dimly lit, distant, and climbing into the dawn sky.  Now, they were dimly lit, diving down towards the mountain, and significantly closer.  (Another non-surprise.  Mac had been exhausting herself gaining altitude all day.)

Mac could now be sure the beasts varied greatly in appearance.  Some were dark and some light, but most were in between.  Countershading was the norm, even in the darker animals, and most had patterns of stripes and/or spots.  One particularly handsome specimen was calico, with randomly shaped, solid patches of pale gray, dark-brown, and dull rust-red.  Overall, there was a great deal of diversity, but all on the theme of effective camouflage.

And speaking of diversity, now that she was so much closer, Mac was increasingly sure that the beasts also varied in individual size.  All of them were big, and some of them were very big, like the dragon that had transported Bonnie, George, and a squad of amazons to the mountain, but a few of were "small," only the size of, say, a large tyrannosaur or elephant?  It was difficult to make reliable estimates, given the rapidly waning light and the fact that the beasts were already in the shadow of the mountain.

Mac also noted that a few of the dragons were wearing harnesses, and more than half of those were laden with cargo.  She couldn't tell if any had human riders.

Also, as it turned out, the dragons destinations were all higher up the mountain, at least 500 feet above Mac's head and not on the level of the plateau itself.  Again, it was difficult to make accurate estimates.  In addition, she could tell they were all headed for different destinations.  There was no hovering traffic jam while the flapping horde waited for clearance to land at a single point.  This was yet another non-surprise, now that Mac thought about it.  This morning, the departure had seemed to have been from different parts of the mountain, so the return should be the same, and it was.

Mac heaved a huge yawn.  The dragons were fascinating, but she was very tired.  Finally, the homecoming petered out... and was over.  No more dragon flyover.  Mac made a careful examination of her immediate surroundings, the dark road and final grassy slope of the plateau, then settled back down, squirmed for comfort, and closed her eyes.

---

Mac heard music... beautiful music... complex, beautiful music. 

...♪♪♫♪♫♪♫♫♪♪♪♫♪♪...

It was vocal.  In fact, it was the voice, and it was beautiful.  Mac sighed... and a wave of pure pleasure coursed through her body.

The music paused.  Thank you.  The music resumed.

...♪♪♫♪♫♪♪♫♪♫♫♪♪♪♪♫♪♫♫♪♪♪...

"It's beautiful," Mac sighed.

The music paused again.  Yes, it is.  It's a lullaby.  My favorite lullaby.

...♪♫♪♫♪♫♫♪♪♪♫♪♪♪♪♪♫♪♪♪♪♪♫♪♪...

A smile curling her coral lips, Mac listened to the lullaby... and drifted off into the most relaxing, refreshing slumber she'd experienced since coming to Elsewhere.

...♫♪♪♪♪♪♫♪♪♪♪♪♫♪♪...

The Medical School Professors, or whoever the heck they were, had spent something like fifteen minutes comforting the naked and chained George after the armored ginger amazons departed the school chamber with the naked, not chained, and now box-tied and cleave-gagged Bonnie.

Sky Woman being boarded and the adventurers captured had been bad enough.  Being transported via dragon to a labyrinth of mountaintop caverns was certainly bad enough.  Then, being stripped naked, bathed, placed in chains, and dragged to a formal audience with the gingers' queen?  That was truly horrid, distasteful icing on an unappetizing cake!  Granted, the queen was beautiful (albeit not particularly friendly) and the Professors were openly friendly, but Bonnie being doubly-captured, or re-abducted, or whatever, and dragged off by the same ginger amazons, separating George from her partner?  That was just rude!  George had no choice but to have herself a good cry... and she did.

Headmistress Dierdre, or Senior Professor Dierdre, or Head Healer Deirdre, or whatever she called herself, continued holding George close as she sobbed into her hostess' tunic-clad breasts.  Meanwhile, the junior gingers handed out drinks and after-dinner snacks of candied fruit and nuts... all of which George paused her sobbing to politely refuse. 

A couple of the older gingers and several students produced musical instruments (guitar-like lutes or mandolins, flutes or recorders, and small drums) and gave an informal concert.  They were gifted musicians, and the music was quite pleasant.  Nonetheless, George found herself drifting off to sleep... then was startled awake!

Dierdre was carrying George in her arms with no difficulty.  Obviously, she was stronger than she looked!  Their destination turned out to be what was obviously a large bedroom.  (Or a "bedcave?")  A couple of tunic-clad students pulled back the covers on the gigantic bed, George was deposited on the cool, clean sheets, then watched as the students helped Dierdre undress!  This was not an involved process and didn't take very long.  All the smiling redhaired 40- or 50-something beauty had been wearing was the full-length tunic-gown and a linen loincloth.  Soon, wearing nothing but millions of freckles and with her long, ginger curls loose about her shoulders, Dierdre slid between the sheets and snuggled close to George!

The gorgeous, curvaceous, totally naked Dierdre exchanged what George assumed were goodnight wishes with the ginger students, and the students departed, extinguishing the candles as they went, leaving behind only a single tiny oil lamp whose feeble light was insufficient to prevent the chamber from plunging into near-darkness.

Unseen lips kissed the top of George's head, then her hostess' unseen body snuggled even closer... and that was it.  George lay still, tried not to shiver in mortification, and ignored her chains.  Luckily (if that was the appropriate word), George was very sleepy and didn't feel up to a display of umbrage at such intimate contact.  Nonetheless, the naked familiarity was simply uncalled for!  Granted, Dierdre's heart was in the right place... right there... beating against George's right breast... but the naked snuggling was most distressing... and comforting.

George did the only thing appropriate, she closed her eyes and went to sleep.  Nobody likes a troublesome guest.

Bonnie was awakened by the delivery of breakfast in bed... the bed being the burlap pallet full of pokey straw resting on the stone floor of her stone cell, and the breakfast being a wooden bowl full of some sort of porridge or oatmeal, plus a wooden spoon.  Three fully armored guards with clubs (but not swords) unlocked Bonnie's cell, entered the tiny chamber, untied her box-tie bonds, handed her the bowl, exited the cell, locked the door behind them, and tramped away down the corridor, all without saying a word (or even a smile).

"Good morning to you, too!" Bonnie shouted after them.  Her words echoed down the stone corridor and went unanswered.  The porridge was stiff, but it didn't smell bad.  Bonnie sat back down on the pallet, lifted the spoon, and gave her breakfast a taste.  It was bland, but more than palatable.  It wasn't up to the culinary standards of Dierdre's School for Hot Gingers, but it was edible.  And it wasn't oatmeal.  Bonnie didn't know what it was, other than some sort of cereal grain mush, but it wasn't oatmeal.  If anything, it was grits made from a highly unusual variety of corn... but it wasn't oatmeal.  Could use cream and a little sliced fruit, Bonnie decided as she scraped the bottom of the bowl.  Maybe a few raisins.

Breakfast consumed... with a cupful of water from the terracotta jug to wash it down... Bonnie untied her rope hobble, then climbed to her now free feet and used her cell's "facilities" (the metal bucket with the lid).  After that... she waited.

Something like an hour later, the trio of armored guards returned, but this time they were accompanied by the irritating (but beautiful), freckled, ginger youngster.  She was wearing her gold headband/circlet, but instead of boots and armor, she was in a simple linen tunic with brown leather belt around her narrow waist.  Her feet were bare.  Hands on hips, an infuriating smile curling her lips and her green eyes flashing, the brat watched as the guards restored Bonnie's box-tie... but instead of hobbling Bonnie's feet, they tied a noose with a non-compacting knot around her neck and handed the free end to the gloating, unarmored amazon youngster.

And then, Bonnie was led from her cell, down the corridor, out of the brig-tunnel, and into the main cavern of the military enclave.  It was a beehive of relaxed activity, that is, there were many amazons milling about and busily doing various things, like stacking crates full of who-knows-what, swabbing a section of the cavern floor with buckets and mops, sweeping out side tunnels, etc.  Off to the side, in a large, clear area, a squad of eight amazons in full armor with spears and shields were being led in close order drill by a ginger officer or NCO in her forties, also in armor but "armed" only with a long stick she was using to indicate errors in form with light taps.  Bonnie recognized the morning routine of a disciplined military unit.  Things were simultaneously hectic and relaxed, in a business-as-usual sort of way.

The tunic-clad, barefooted youngster led box-tied-Bonnie to a company-size formation of totally nude amazons.  The youngster stripped off her tunic and belt, handed them off to a passing tunic-clad soldier... padded to the front of the nude warriors, with Bonnie on her rope leash immediately behind, then raised her free hand and barked a command.  She then led the nude company through the open dragon-size door, and they began jogging down the corridor beyond.  Bonnie decided she'd go along, not that the leash gave her any choice in the matter. 

There was sparse civilian traffic in the corridor, but the tunic-clad pedestrians smiled and stepped aside to let the runners pass.

After about five minutes... the jog accelerated to a steady run... then stayed at the quicker pace.  Bonnie kept herself in good shape and was having no difficulty keeping up, and that was in spite of her box-tie and leash.  She'd would show that wet-behind-the-ears, gloating, gold-headband-wearing ginger brat what was what!  In the back of her mind, Bonnie knew she was being silly, but she didn't care.

The total run was something like four miles, all of it through public corridors, wide tunnels, and across increasingly busy junctions.  There was even a little hill work, as portions of the chosen path rose steadily under their feet... or plunged down into the depths of the mountain.  It was a serious run, just the kind Bonnie liked (aside from the box-tie).  And as it turned out, the exercise wasn't over.

The column slowed to a jog... then a walk... then entered a side tunnel.  Bonnie was sweating and breathing heavily, but quickly recovered (except for the sweating).  The side tunnel ended in what Bonnie characterized as a cave, rather than a cavern or chamber, because half of the space was open to the morning air.

The brat with the gold bling and the rest of the company padded to the open area, which was more or less a very large balcony with a low balustrade capped with flagstones.  The vista beyond was breathtaking, a generous stretch of grassland with an immense forest beyond and stretching all the way to the horizon.  Bonnie very much wanted to make a detailed survey of the area (and possibly find the Spirit of Skywoman crash site somewhere in all those trees), but her leash snapped taut (Brat!) and she was led to a row of large wooden buckets on a low table/platform off to one side.  There, the amazons shared water, dipping it from the buckets with wooden ladles.

The brat drank a full ladle, then smirked at Bonnie, dipped the ladle back in one of the buckets, and held it so Bonnie could drink.  After the run, the clear, clean water was just what she needed.  Bonnie decided the gold-wearing snippet of a youngster wasn't so bad after all... but she was still a brat.

Suddenly, a ginger in her late forties clapped her hands and the company returned to the inner cave and formed up into ranks.  The brat stood off to the side with Bonnie still on her leash.

Bonnie had noticed racks of staffs and clubs against the cave walls when they'd entered, but now she had a chance to examine them in more detail.  Some of the staffs were just that, quarterstaffs; but more than half were "pugilsticks," staffs with thick padding covered with brown leather at both ends.  Also, while about a third of the racked clubs were simple clubs, the rest were practice swords, identical in size and shape to the soldiers' short-swords, but with obviously dull "blades" and blunt "points."  There was a rack of practice spears as well, all slightly longer than the quarterstaffs and with small conical pads at one end instead of spearpoints.  Finally, there was a rack holding coils of hemp rope.

The older ginger clapped her hands again, then started reeling off instructions.  As she spoke, the amazons broke into squads, went to the racks, and armed themselves.  Obviously, the senior ginger making the assignments was an officer or NCO.  She pointedly ignored Bonnie and her brat-handler, then joined the handful of other obviously-not-young gingers in supervising the training groups.  It was now obvious to Bonnie that this was weapons drill.

By the way, all the senior amazons were in truly exquisite physical condition, and moved like the trained fighters they so obviously were.  They were also gorgeous, but that was neither here nor there.

Bonnie turned to the brat.  "When do they serve lunch in this army?" she politely inquired.

The ginger brat ignored Bonnie's question, led her to the nearest rack, and tied the end of her leash to a rack of quarterstaffs.  She then smiled, turned, padded down the line of racks, and selected a practice sword.  She gave it a flip, then a figure-eight slash, then a double flip.  Showoff, Bonnie thought. The Brat then strolled to a ring of similarly armed naked amazons and joined the circle.

Bonnie watched the nude amazons spar.  Not to her surprise, they were good. 

The squads jabbing at each other with practice-spears were using them the way Tuscaroran warriors used their spears for traditional ritual sparring, with two-handed lunges, parries, and sweeps with the butt-ends.  Bonnie assumed they'd use different techniques when they were using them with in concert with their large, rectangular shields.

The quarterstaff-armed group was sparring in what Bonnie realized as reduced speed.  They were still quick, but also deliberate.  They were practicing specific moves: thrusts, parries, taps, etc., and there was learning going on.  Now and then one of the older gingers paused the action to correct errors made by the younger soldiers.

The pugilstick exchanges, however, were at full speed and full force (within reason).  The thump-thump-thump beat of the pads meeting was a virtual drumbeat.

The sword practice was a mix of fast and slow.  One squad was being put through a series of thrusts and slashes in perfect unison by one of the "grizzled veterans."  Other squads were dueling in pairs.

The older gingers Bonnie had pegged as NCOs were circulating among the groups, watching the action with calm intensity and pausing now and then to offer praise or scold poor performance.  There was a lot more scorn than praise.  Yep, Bonnie thought, they're NCOs.

Oh-by-the-way—and not like it was something Bonnie was only now noticing—young and old, the naked amazons were, indeed, in excellent physical condition.  They were also flushed and sweaty.

The brat was fully committed to her practice group, shouting encouragement when it was her turn to watch, and holding her own when it was her turn to spar.

Bonnie heaved a sigh, twisted her torso to test her box-tie, then returned to watching.

The senior NCO had noticed Bonnie's "escape attempt," favored her with an assessing stare for several long seconds... then strolled to the brat's group, called a halt in the action to pull the youngster aside, and they had a long, quiet conversation... during which the brat's green eyes focused on Bonnie... and she smiled.

Finally, the NCO shouted orders to one of the squads dueling with practice swords, they stopped sparring, and together with the brat and the NCO, padded in Bonnie's direction.

What now? Bonnie wondered.  Then, one of the soldiers handed her practice sword to another, stepped behind Bonnie, and untied her box-tie and leash.  Bonnie rolled her shoulders and stretched her arms, then caught the hilt of a practice sword when it was tossed to her by the NCO.  They want me to join the fun, Bonnie realized.  Sure, why not?

Bonnie's training and experience with blades was mainly in plain-and-dirty knife-fighting.  As her first instructor explained, "I'm not here to teach you how to fight, but how to kill."  Not getting killed herself was also an important part of the curriculum, but the point (pun intended) was that while the techniques she'd been taught might exhibit a discernible style, fighting with blades was not a form of recreation.  It was deadly business.  Also, sportsmanship and etiquette were for losers, meaning dead losers.  The proper techniques, practiced until they became habit, were for winners.

As for swords, Bonnie had also had training in fencing, but mainly with the saber.  Bonnie took a few figure-eight turns of the wooden "blade."  It was the basic shape of the amazon's preferred weapon, but was decidedly blunt, and the top was more a rounded bump than a point.  Also, it was well-balanced, but heavy, probably heavier than one of the soldier's actual swords.  Obviously, this was to develop the trainee's wrist and hand muscles.  Next, Bonnie tried a few lunges.  The squad of gingers had stepped back to give her room, and Bonnie realized she was being watched by a lot of green eyes.  Those not actually sparring in the surrounding groups were stealing glances in her direction.

Ignoring the brat (just to piss her off), Bonnie focused on the NCO, placed her left palm on the blunt tip of her sword, then, keeping her hand in line with the sword, pulled her hand away, doing her best to pantomime a longer blade.  The NCO may or may not have understood, but in any case her response was to shrug her shoulders and shake her head.  Bonnie shrugged as well, took a few more swings with the sword to limber up... then turned to face her potential opponents.  Bonnie wasn't smiling, but she wasn't frowning either.

The brat said something, the NCO shrugged (and may have rolled her eyes), and the ginger youngster grinned and dropped into fighting stance, sword at the ready.  Without further preamble, and with her lips still curled in the same irritating smirk, she attacked!

The short sword is used for slashing and stabbing, and has minimal crossquards or quillions that are nearly useless for catching an opponent's thrust and trapping their blade.  Bonnie deflected the brat's first thrust, then her second, then made a thrust of her own.  It was deflected, and the engagement continued.  The wooden swords were banging together at a furious rate.  Then, the brat overextended herself.  Bonnie had anticipated the mistake and the youngster received a humiliating smack on her left butt-cheek with the flat of Bonnie's "blade."

Bonnie noted from the corner of her eye that the other sparring circles had grounded their weapons and were openly watching the duel.  Also, they were smiling.  The brat was not.

The fight resumed, and Bonnie was careful not to gloat.  The brat, however was increasingly flushed and furious.  No further openings were offered by either opponent, and the wooden swords banged and swooshed through the air as Bonnie and the brat dueled.

Finally, it happened:  The brat lunged and made another mistake, Bonnie managed to plant her left foot behind the brat's right foot, shifted her weight and lunged, and the brat tumbled to the ground.  She'd managed to parry Bonnie's thrust, but now the blunt point of Bonnie's sword was nudging her chest, just above and between her breasts, and Bonnie's left foot was atop the brat's right wrist, trapping her sword.

The fight was over.

Bonnie took a step back, still carefully not smiling (and mentally kicking herself).  It was stupid to provoke her captors, but she'd got carried away in the moment.  Panting from the exercise and shining with sweat, Bonnie snapped to attention, saluted her opponent with a sweeping gesture, and waited to see what would happen next.

The brat remained on the ground, sweating, panting, and glaring at Bonnie.  The watching amazons were carefully not smiling.  The NCO was also glaring, but at the brat, not at Bonnie.

The NCO cleared her throat, then started giving the brat what was obviously a dressing down in the gingers' unknown language.

The brat absorbed the senior warrior's guidance/judgement with stoicism, and the watching amazons were now studiously not watching what was happening... but they didn't return to their dueling, either.  Bonnie realized she was observing another universal military truth play out: regardless of rank, the Master (or in this case Mistress) of a practice field is the ultimate authority, and even snot-nosed, gold-bling-wearing brats of probable higher rank were required and expected to submit.

The NCO's lecture ended, and Bonnie decided to try and patch things up.  She transferred her practice sword to her left hand, holding it with the blade to the rear, then extended her right hand to the brat.

The brat eyed Bonnie's hand... then gave it a firm grip and allowed herself to be pulled to her feet.  She was no longer scowling, but it was obvious she was not happy.

The NCO took the practice swords from Bonnie and the brat, barked an order, and the practice resumed.  The various sparring circles reformed and went back to work.  The NCO then focused on the brat and Bonnie and barked another order.

The brat's scowl resurfaced, briefly, then she extended her right hand.  Bonnie realized the NCO wanted them to shake and makeup.  She took the brat's hand and squeezed (but not excessively).

The brat squeezed back, and continued squeezing... then pulled on Bonnie's arm.  Bonnie pulled back.  The NCO rolled her eyes, but didn't intervene.

The handshake had turned into a wrestling match, and Bonnie had no choice but to go along.  She wasn't about to let the youngster throw her to the ground.  Discretion might be the better part of valor, but she had her pride.  They grappled and struggled while the NCO watched.

Bonnie dabbled in a variety of Martial Arts from across the civilized world (her civilized world), including the kung-fu of the Han Hegemony and various disciplines of the Moreasian island chain of Nippon.  She wasn't a purist, but incorporated what she'd learned into an amalgamated fighting style of her own.  In other words, Bonnie Plantuckett had a bag of tricks.

The brat was no slouch, but she soon realized she was outmatched.  This did not help her calm down.  She was thrown, picked herself up, and returned to the fray three times.

Bonnie didn't press her advantage.  She realized she had to figure out how to end this debacle before someone, meaning the brat, got hurt.  She doubted damaging an amazon officer (or whoever the brat was ) wouldn't help Bonnie and George's cause.

The brat was thrown a fourth time... and found herself sprawled on the sand near a rack of quarterstaffs.  Her smirk returned, she jumped to her feet, and grabbed a staff from the rack.  Then, with a martial shout, she attacked.

Bonnie dropped and rolled under the brat's attempted strike—and found herself near the loosely coiled rope that was her former box-tie.  She grabbed the rope, rolled away in time to avoid the brat's second thrust, then leaped to her feet.

The opponents circled.  The brat was fixated on Bonnie, who, apparently had decided to bring a coil of rope to a quarterstaff fight.  Bonnie deftly tied a bow-shaped knot in one end of the rope and held the remainder loosely coiled in her left hand.  Her eyes were on the brat, the brat's truly infuriating smile, and the whirling quarterstaff, but she didn't ignore the rest of her surroundings.

Once again, the sparring circles had broken up and formed a wide circle around Bonnie and the brat.  About two-thirds of the watching amazons were clapping, cheering, and laughing, and the final third—comprised mostly of the older amazons—watched with obvious displeasure.  The senior NCO (the "Training Mistress") was borderline livid, but she didn't intervene.

What the brat didn't know and had no way of knowing was that among Bonnie's skill set was a solid grounding in the Nipponese discipline of Nawajutsu, the capture and restraint of unwilling prisoners with rope or cord.

The brat attacked yet again and, in seconds—Bonnie wrenched the staff from her hands—slipped a loop of the knot around the brat's right wrist and pulled it tight—spun her around and trapped her now bound right wrist behind her back and against her left upper-arm—spun her again—and tightening a loop over her shoulders and across her throat.  Bonnie then swept the brat off her feet and she landed with an "Oof" on the sandy floor, knocking the air out of her lungs.  Bonnie dropped to one knee, bent her opponent's legs back, dropped a loop around her crossed ankles, and pulled out the slack.  The final result, achieved in a mere handful of seconds of fluid motion and whipping rope, was an asymmetrical but tight and inescapable hogtie of single strands of braided hemp!

The free end of the remaining rope in her right hand, Bonnie stood and faced the surrounding amazons with an even stare (neither smiling nor gloating).

There was a brief pause... and the soldiers broke into spontaneous cheers and applause.  Bonnie smiled and gave a slight bow in response.

As for the brat, now naked and stringently if inelegantly hogtied on the sand... not so much.  She struggled furiously and cursed.  (Bonnie assumed she was cursing).

As for the NCO/Training Mistress... her scowl had been replaced by a ghost of a smile.  She let the cheers and applause continue for several seconds... then padded to the rack of rope, selected a coil, and tossed it to Bonnie.  She then barked out a name and an amazon stepped into the circle, taking the hogtied and furiously struggling brat's place.  The NCO then pointed to the waiting amazon, then Bonnie, then barked an order.

Bonnie shrugged, signaling her lack of understanding.

The NCO stepped forward and pantomimed engaging Bonnie's new opponent, but with slow, exaggerated moves.

She wants a lesson, Bonnie realized, allowed herself a slight smile, and nodded.  She released the hitch in the coil and readied the rope for use, then paused to bow to her new amazon target.  The target in question smiled and bowed in return, and Bonnie "attacked."  She repeated the Nawajutsu take-down and initial bind she'd used to subdue the brat, but didn't bother tying the final knot... she then quickly released her opponent and helped her to her feet.

The NCO barked another order and Bonnie's opponent dropped into fighting stance.  Bonnie took the hint and repeated the demonstration... then a third time.

The NCO clapped her hands, then barked a series or orders.  Six of the watching amazons hurried to the racks and replaced their weapons, three of them grabbed coils of rope, and they joined Bonnie and her "assistant" in the ring.

The NCO shouted more orders, and the remaining amazons reformed their circles and went back to sparring with their various weapons.  The tough "old" veteran then motioned for Bonnie to continue with her rope lessons.  At least, that's what Bonnie assumed she wanted her to do, and as it turned out, she was right.  She spent the next half hour teaching the move to her "class."  Luckily, the instruction was mostly hands-on, so the language barrier wasn't a great problem.

Meanwhile, the NCO was taking the occasion to deliver a what was obviously a detailed critique of the still hogtied brat's soldierly shortcomings and character flaws, no doubt lamenting her own fate, to be burdened with the thankless task of whipping such a worthless soldier into shape as a qualified warrior and/or junior officer.  That's what Bonnie assumed was happening.  The brat simply lay in the sand, helpless in her hogtie, and glumly listening.

Poor brat, Bonnie thought, then concentrated on teaching her ginger students.

Eventually, the training period ended, Bonnie and the rest of the company of amazons trooped into a bathing cavern and cleaned up, then into a side tunnel which opened on the gigantic barracks cavern that had been the start of their run.

The NCO and the hogtied brat had remained behind.  Apparently, the Training Mistress wasn't finished lecturing her captive audience.

Bonnie noted that she wasn't tied up.  Also, one of the older amazons handed her a clean, standard tunic from a stack of clothing.  She slipped it on and found the sleeveless, thigh-length garment quite comfortable, and it afforded great freedom of movement.  Bonnie also noted that three of the warriors were still watching her closely, and all three had clubs tucked in their belts.  Bonnie selected a leather belt from a pile on the table and belted it around her waist, cinching the excess free end in the same manner as the amazons.  She then smiled at what she assumed were her trio of club-armed handlers.

"What's next?" Bonnie politely inquired.