[TRIGGER WARNING: death, violence, gore, slavery, foul language. ]
By the time the overseers guided them from the mines—connected by chains—the skies were scarlet and streaked with black. Frostdrift's cold winds chilled them to the bones as they walked barefoot across the snow to the carriage that had brought them there at the crack of dawn.
Inside and all huddled up against the other slaves, Strelitzia fought to keep her eyes open, feeling the warmth from the others. But the trip back was quicker than to the mines.
"Get out!" The overseer yelled, cracking the whip across Fetu's back, who sat across from her.
He bared his teeth and stood up, staring the overseer in the eye. She could tell he had spirit, could tell he wanted nothing more than to beat the man to a bloody pulp. But his shoulders lowered as though he knew he wouldn't win the battle, though his dark eyes said: not yet at least.
