UDIT SAT DOWN atop a dilapidated building, loitering next to an old friend of his, Salick.
They both towered over the manor estate, watchful eyes pinned to the muddy surface upon which pointy-eared men like themselves toiled till calloused hands began to succumb.
"I'm a bit tired o' this, Salick. 'Tis not what we should be doin' til time's caught up to us both."
"You sound like one of them," Udit said, eyes glued to the surface beneath him.
"Huh? And why, what do you mean by that?" Salick raised a brow.
"One of the Ulfon slaves," he said, somehow managing to smile through it all, "you sound like one."
Salick scoffed. "Is that not what we are now, Udit?"
"Yeilding," Udit said, "Crying. Forsaking the Ulfon culture and proper speech for human's."
"We were more before … before it happened," Salick said, "but I'm convinced through and through we're slaves now."
"I'm no slave," Udit said, scoffing.
Salick grimaced. He'd seen Udit toil like the slaves, work harder than the slaves and now to slavelords like the slaves. "What do you mean?"
"I'm no slave," Udit finally peered at him, "I'm just pretending to be one. Pretending so that I experience a smidgen of damnation."
***
YEL HELD HIS LEFT hand, screaming atop his lungs. His thumb was bitten clean off, blood jetting out from the opening of the wound and gushing about the stone Inn floor.
"He bit my thumb off!" Yel snapped as another man came sidling toward him.
Ropes were coiled around Aran's body as he leaned against a cobblestone wall. They were wrapped around him tight and firmly. He couldn't move his legs nor his arms. Barring his head, he couldn't move a single muscle.
The men had almost even coiled the ropes around his neck. But then again, Aran was a good find. They wouldn't dare risk his life.
As Aran's eyes shifted focus to the group of men before him, he narrowed them. Where was he? Who were the people standing in front of him? His eyes swept down his body. Most importantly, why was he tied up?
Eyes upon the man who stood wrapping his hand in bandages, Aran parted his lips, about ask a question. But right then, he realized that something … was in his mouth.
It was wet and warm, whatever it was. His silver pupils fell, drawing toward eachother. And that's when he saw it: a bloody thumb protruding from his lips.
His eyes gaped. He quickly spat the thumb out. It fell atop his lap. His body spasmed. He squirmed about until the thumb had fallen off his thighs.
"My thumb!" Yel, standing before him, snapped. "You took it from me!"
Aran looked up at him–horror on his face. Did he bite a man's thumb off? No. It wasn't him. He shook his head as Yel drew toward him, gritting teeth and knitting brows.
"It wasn't me!" Aran's voice exploded.
Yel halted, looking down at him. He knew Ulfons were trouble but this … this was something on a whole other level.
"You really have the guts to," he sneered, "deny it! We all just saw you tear my bloody thumb off my hand!"
Aran gazed down at the floor, thoughtful.When he shouted before, his voice … ' sounded different,' he thought. 'My voice.' It was not the seventeen year-old voice he'd grown used to.
"Speak when you're spoken to, peasant!" The man smacked his left hand across Aran's face.
Aran groaned and winced. The pain seared. A strong blow. When he received the second one, his head went light.
Two didn't suffice. The man gritted his teeth, shuddering with all the festering rage. He unbuckled his belt, pulled out the organ between his thighs and allowed urine to jet out, drousing Aran in it.
Aran closed his eyes as the yellowish, reeking substance drenched the fullness of his body. When the men was done, he pulled up his pants, buckled his belt and watched as Aran spewed urine from his mouth.
"You piece of shit!" Aran snapped. "You pissed on me!"
The man raised a hand. But before he could deliver a next blow, someone stopped him.
It was the Innkeeper, Tin, squeezing his wrist.
Yel scowled, tugging–trying to break his hand free. "Let go o' me, Tin."
Tin drank from the bottle of ale in his dominant hand. "I'm payin' for the Ulfon, am I not? He's mine now … let me do the hurting." He released Yel's hand.
Yel shook off his hand. He knew Tin well. He was simply making sure the boy was healthy and in good nick before he turned him in to the lords. They accounted for all that in the slave trade.
"I want my Arichrysos by tomorrow," he said, "and extra to cover up a few damages."
"I'll have the coins by tonight," Tin said, looking down at Aran, "after all, I'm heading to Aradona in the morning."
Yel scoffed, picked up his thumb, and edged away, joining a few others on the other side of the Inn. He plopped down at a round, wooden table and picked a jug of ale.
A drunkard, seated opposite Yel, flashed gapped teeth. "Trouble with the Ulfon, Yel?" He slurred.
"Not anymore," Yel said. "Sellin' the pesky rodent to Tin."
Another boozer cackled. "Smart man," he said, "trying to make a quick buck before the Ulfon escapes you. One minute you have 'em, the next thing you know … they're gone."
"Still," another slurred, "it was stupid of you to …" he almost dozed off but snapped back, "to sell it to Tin" His eyes rolled up in his head. " Had you chosen to sell to a lord, you'd be set for life."
Yel frowned, mulling. What he did was best. He wasn't taking any chances. He'd already gotten his house burnt down and his thumb bitten off. It was only a matter of time before the Ulfon took his life and escaped.
Now, it was Tin's problem. If he managed to have it for long.