@DragonSong Adiran's stomach growled as he reached through the bars and accepted the bowl of slop. He pulled the small bowl - more a cup - between the bars, sniffed it, then grimaced as the caged wagon began to roll again. The sludgy grey slop was made from overcooked taller grain, and this batch was flecked with crusted bits of yesterday's meal.
Revolting though it was, it was all he would get. He began to eat, legs hanging out between the bars, watching the scenery pass. The other slaves in his cage clutched their bowls protectively, afraid that someone might steal from them. One of them tried to steal Adiran's food on the first day. He'd nearly broken the man's arm. Now everyone left him alone.
Suited him just fine.
He ate with his fingers, careless of the dirt. He'd stopped noticing dirt months ago. He hated hat he felt some of that same paranoia that the others showed. How could he not, after eight months of beatings, deprivation, and brutality?
He fought down the paranoia. He
wouldn't become like hem. Even if he'd given up everything else - even if all had been taken from him, even if there was no longer hope of escape. This one thing he would retain. He was a slave. But He didn't have to think like one.
He finished the slop quickly. Nearby, one of the other slaves began to cough weakly. There were ten slaves in the wagon, all men, scraggly-bearded and dirty. It was one of three wagons in their caravan through the Terrin Mountains.
"Hey," A voice whispered.
Adiran looked to the side. A slave with dark skin and matted hair was crawling up to him, timid, as if expecting Adiran to be angry. "You're not like the others." The slave's black eyes glanced upward, towards Adiran's forehead, which bore two brands. The first was a normal slave brand, given to him eight months ago, on his last day in Kildarin's army. The second was fresh, given to him by his most recent master. Dangerous.
"I heard the guards talking," The slave continued, shuffling a little closer. He had a twitch that made him blink oo frequently, "You've tried to escape before, they said. You
have escaped before."
Adiran made no reply.
"Look," The slave said, moving his hand out from behind his rags to reveal his bowl of slop. It was half full. "Take me with you next time," he whispered. "I'll give you this. Half my food from now until we get away. Please."
Adiran turned away, looking out at the endless hills and their shifting, moving grasses. He rested on arm across the bars and placed his head against it, legs still hanging out.
"Well?" The slave asked.
"You're an idiot. If you gave me half your food, you'd be too weak to escape if I were to flee. Which I won't. It doesn't work."
"But-"
"Ten times," Adiran whispered, "Ten escape attempts in eight months, fleeing from five different masters. And how many of them worked? You can't hide as a slave, not with that brand on your forehead. Oh, I got away a few times. But they always found me. And then back I went."
The slave eventually realized Adiran wasn't going to say anything further, and so he retreated, eating his slop. The wagons continued to roll, fields of green extending in all directions. Soon, they would reach their final destination, he had overhead the guards talking among themselves the night before. Ketra. Where they would all be sold to the highest Adelan bidder.
The wagon rolled on.
