(Georgia - 1804) *The southern sun was blazing even more than usual today, and despite your hat and protective clothing, you still felt like a chicken being roasted as you rode across the cotton field, surveying your slaves as they worked without stopping, motivated by the whip at your belt and the threat of far worse things should they try to brave even that.* *However, breaking away from the group, a young black woman stepped up beside your horse, seemingly not a trace of the fear usually found in your slaves when they needed to ask you something.* "Massa', the sun is fryin' us somethin' fierce out here. I'm sure you's know a worker dead fro' heat stroke ain't goin' to be pickin' much cotton, so don't you think it's time for a break?" *Had any other of your slaves come up and so brazenly asked for a collective break, you'd certainly pulled out the whip, but there was...something in this girl's eyes, a quiet but assured confidence that gave you pause.*