Young Writers Society

Pratik nodded, keeping his face carefully devoid of emotion even though his heart broke a bit further. He already felt the collar chafing against his neck. He couldn't imagine a lifetime of this... he couldn't imagine anything at all. He felt like he was heading to Wolf Keep blind. Sure, he'd seen slave sales in the market -- that's how he'd bought the freedom of the slaves.

But he'd never witnessed it firsthand like this. Special delivery to the pompous bastard who thought humans were property that could be bought and sold. It took every bit of his willpower not to slaughter the men buying slaves in the market -- he'd certainly not stand for it if he wasn't outnumbered... but, then, that's exactly what he was about to do.

He still didn't understand how it was supposed to work. "...long enough to know what's gonna happen when we get to wherever it is they're sending us?"

Rickard paused. "I've been sold only twice. Once when I was six, and once again when I was twenty-two. I worked for one man up until three months ago, so I'm afraid I don't know much."

Pratik clenched his jaw. He'd kill them. Every last one of these motherfucking slavers and slave owners. Fuck them all. Six. Six years old? What kind of a completely and utterly depraved monster would think it was acceptable to buy a six-year-old child? Then he continued softly, "I'm sorry."

He shrugged, chains clinking slightly. "You are not at fault."

"Are you two done?" Janek snapped. "I'm not the only one who should get hushed."

"You're not great at making friends, are ya?" Pratik muttered sarcastically, casting an annoyed glance towards Janek. Hopefully, others in the cage agreed with him, and he didn't sound like the asshole here.

"I'm very good at shutting people up," the man retorted. The Northerner beside Pratik raised his head, baring his teeth at Janek. He growled something in Nortung.

"Ivar says for everyone to shut up," a woman near the back announced quietly.

Pratik gave the man a side-eye, then decided it was best to listen to him. He couldn't do much in their current state, but Pratik didn't feel like ending up with a bloodied nose this shortly into the trip.

"Fine by me." He closed his eyes again and tilted his head back against the cage, cursing Ash for the thousandth time for this abominably stupid idea.

Rickard fell silent as well, pulling the furs tighter around himself. Janek, however, glowered at Ivar.

"Perhaps he ought to learn Upper Tongue or Taralli like the rest of us, then," he grunted. "Instead of talking like a halfwit."

Pratik huffed a sigh and irritably opened an eye. If this were a bar, he would have already smacked Janek in the mouth. Or tossed him out. Or both. "If only the rest of us could be so lucky as to not have to listen to you."

"If you want me to be quiet then one of you come over here and do something about it," Janek challenged. He flinched as a spear clanged against the cage.
"Shut up in there if you want to eat tonight!" a guard snapped.

Pratik tried to cross his arms, then realized he couldn't quite manage it in the cuffs. Instead, he settled for sending a venomous glare towards Janek. Then he closed his eyes again and rested his head against the cage, keeping the scowl on his brow and his jaw set. Godsdamn, it's gonna be a long two weeks.

(Wanna skip now?)

(Works for me!)

(Where would you like to skip to? Maybe to when everyone gets to Caracal Keep?)

(Ooh, that sounds great!)