The men who had taken defensive stances by crouching down and holding their bound hands before them, lowered their hands a bit and looked at Arat with more curiosity than caution. Their tense muscles relaxed, though they stayed in their defensive positions.
Beneath his rusty iron mask, Arat was a swirl of mixed emotions. His leg burned with pain, but he was more unsettled by the way the men eyed him as if he were a dangerous beast. It was also his first time standing before a crowd, and to make matters worse, he was the center of their attention. He felt a blend of shyness, nervousness, and a strange excitement.
As he slowly lowered his open palm and stopped waving it, he shifted his position to sit in a way that minimized the pressure on his injured leg. his black blood had already soaked the pale green bandage Fred had casually wrapped around his foot, Given how many scars Arat had left on his hands, he considered himself lucky that Fred hadn't kicked his bleeding leg to seek revenge.
He stretched his injured leg out in front of him and, wincing with pain, he removed the bandage around his leg, putting it on his lap, with much pain he pulled up the torn trouser leg that the spear pierced through to directly look at the condition of his wound, it was rather deep, about the size of his index finger.
With a sigh, Arat tore the trouser leg at the hole, turning it into a long strip of cloth. Blood continued to gush from the wound as the others silently observed, their curiosity fixed more on his abnormal skin and pitch-black blood, which resembled tar.
Arat untied his leather belt from around his waist, then tied it around his leg above were the wound was to stop the bleeding, once secured, he took the blood drenched cloth on his lap and put it on his wound and put pressure on it as he suppressed his pain by clenching his teeth, wrapping the long strip of his torn trouser leg around his injury. Exhaling deeply as he leaned back, placing his hands behind him to support his weight, he raised his head to gaze up at the blue sky.
After a minute or two he checked his wound and found out that though it was not bleeding has lessened compared to before due to Fred's messed up way of bandaging him, he still needed to close the wound. He wasn't picky at what to use since he didn't care about it being dirty. In all these years of his life he hadn't fallen sick or his wounds ever got infected.
Even once that he was bitten by a wolf and its rotten teeth were supposed to infect his wound, he and his grand father were amazed that he was fine. But he was not immune to blood loss. Sooner rather than later he had to do something about that.
The men were still keeping an eye on him, he was a devil after all. At some time when his wound cooled down and and the pain intensified, he glanced at them. Their eyes were still the same, they didn't talk and only stared. Staring at the devils who made this world hell.
Groan!
The silence was interrupted by the growl of Arat's stomach. The men glanced at him, their heads slightly lowered. One of them, an elderly man with weathered skin, white hair, and piercing blue eyes, shifted his position. His face, lined with deep wrinkles, remained impassive as he adjusted his seat.
"You have to wait until the sun downs."
Wait till the sun downs? For what?
"What will happen when the sun downs?"
The man scratched his head, then tapped his stomach with his hand to indicate what he exactly meant.
They will feed us at night? That's too late, I wanna eat so bad. I wish I could take another fish out of the lake and eat it just now. I wonder what they will give us to eat here.
"Um, mister, do you know what they will give us to eat?"
The old man locked eyes with Arat through the holes in his mask, the corners of his mouth were sagged, and his thick, bushy eyebrows partially obscured his eyes, with stray white hairs sticking out at their ends. His nose and ears appeared normal, but his cheekbones jutted out sharply.
"Rotten bread and a cup of water."
Arat was taken aback at what the man had just said, it seemed far too little to survive on, let alone to satisfy his hunger. Arat once again took a good look at all the men, their bodies gaunt, with sunken eyes and prominent cheekbones.
Rotten bread? Can you even eat that? I see, no wonder they look like this, those bastards don't even give them enough food to eat.
"How long have you been here?"
The old man opened his mouth to answer, just then another guy interrupted him.
"Enough, stop chit-chatting with that f*cking devil."
The had thick black mustache, a relatively lively chubby face, bald head and black eyes. His big nose seemed like it was flattened, he was quite brawny, on his right ear were metal rings hanging and his left ear was wounded, the wound had circular shape and the flesh in its parameter was dried.
Who do you think you are, I would have gave you a beating if I was not wounded and bound to this rope! Let him talk to me, at least one of is nice enough to actually talk with me.
The old man and the others dropped their heads, not daring to say a word, some of them even had the corners of their lips curl up, seemingly satisfied with how the brawny man had put the old man in silence.
Everyone is intimidated, he seems to be in charge here, or he is just strong.
Seeing how everyone feared him, Arat lost the urge to speak with the old man. Several times he tried to say something, but each time he closed his mouth, deciding it was safer to stay silent. After what felt like an eternity, the sun finally dipped behind the mountains. A man approached the wooden fences, carrying a straw basket in his hand.
Everyone immediately noticed this and turned their heads toward him, their eyes glued to the straw basket he carried, Arat instantly realized that this was the so called time that the sun downed and the man was the one who was supposed to give them food to eat.
He came close to the wooden gates the area was almost as big as their house back in the village, opening the wooden gates three men followed him two held spears and another one carried a large leather sack which had a tube shape in its head.
Finally. Some food and water. I'm thirsty like hell.
Once the gates opened Arat's eyes beamed with joy, ready to swallow his food in one bite as his mouth watered. Being the closest to the entrance, he hoped to get his share of bread and water before the others. But his excitement quickly turned to disappointment once he saw the man who held the basket of bread was none other than, a lean and skinny man with messy blond hair, a mustache and beard and blue eyes, Mackenzie.
The lean man cast a quick glance at Arat, his eyes lingering briefly on Arat's exposed, injured leg. He casually walked past him and started sharing pieces of bread with the other slaves starting from the man who was tied to the rope closest to Arat, behind him another man came close and poured water into a wooden cup and stretched his hand toward Arat, extending his bound hands happily toward the cup, he saw it getting thrown on the ground as a hand hit it.
Bringing his head up he saw it was Mackenzie who had done so, he turned back and gave the man who had poured the water a serious face and said.
"Not this one."
Mackenzie said with a smirk on his creepy face.
What? You bastard give me food, you sick F*cking piece of trash! I will break every bone in your body once I get the chance.
The man then took the wooden cup from the ground and gave each of the men a full glass of water filling his wooden cup from the leather sack again and again, after they all received a piece of bread with yellow or green mold on them.
"Its rotten." Arat murmured in a way that only he could hear.
He watched as everyone got something to eat expect him, hearing his stomach growling Arat didn't dare ask them to give him food once he saw that Mackenzie stopped the man to give him water in front of the others plus the two other guards standing there with spears in their hands.
First they stab me in the leg, then they don't give me food, how do they want to take me to the capital alive this way.
Without anything left to do Arat leaned on the ground like the others, he noticed the brawny man with a thick mustache had used some rolled up clothes as a pillow to rest his head on. Arat envied him inwardly and noticed that this man was not as skinny and lifeless as the others.
That night Arat slept with his empty stomach, that night, only one thought was in his head.
I have to escape.