Most of us long to "Be" but when the path gets too costly, or steep, we take solace in what we "Have." Remove the trappings of what we own and then what is the sum of us?
They were the survivors, abandoned by the allies who swore to protect, in...
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Carlos lay in his Master's furs as the fire burned low in the hearth, Raissa must have woken him from his fitful slumber as she dutifully fed the low burning embers in the early hours of dawn. Bennett's warm bulk was at his back, he still sometimes shuddered when the hateful man touched him, but he had no desire to wear the hood or have his free movement taken away for weeks on end again.
Carlos hated himself wholeheartedly for letting his nemesis finally win against his will, but the years of captivity had worn him down. Suddenly it was easier to comply than fight that which he now reasoned he could not win against.
The warriors had planned to leave this day on their last raid, there would be no further forays until the weather abated, and by what Sven had described, this could be a very long time. Carlos had never applied himself to his schooling, he had spent more time squandering his days in the game arcades and on the beaches, looking at girls, smoking, and hanging with his mates. So he really had no well formed idea of what Sven had been speaking about, as he was sure most here did not. Still the man had been a soldier, he had to know more about war than most, he was not buying the God stuff like some here did. This was a disaster of man's own making for sure.
Bennett stirred, bringing Carlos back from the landscape of his misspent childhood abruptly. The big man stretched and ran his rough hand along the length of Carlos' side to his thigh. Fortunately in this public setting Bennett did not flaunt his homosexuality openly, and he had partaken of his carnal desires with his captive but rarely and fleetingly.
Carlos felt the cold length of chain being passed around his throat, the padlock clicked shut. He would remain this way fastened to that immovable boulder just as Renard and Nathan were until his Master returned. He had not even given the thought of escape any place in his mind this time. Where would he run to? There was nowhere to run. He would go on living this half life, until he could live no more.
In less than half an hour the camp's occupants had all stirred, each warrior making ready to leave. The fire was blazing now, the flames licking high, charring the white stone of the overhanging ceiling. The women prepared and served the food, the cold was already taking its toll on two of the three of Frances' attendants Sarah and Kate, both looked deathly pale and had chronic coughs. Carlos still had the remains of one as well, it was hard to shake, and for the first time in his young life he felt mortal.
The weather was bleak, but at least there was no wind, not a break in the clouds anywhere or a hint of sun's radiance. Sven walked towards the horses, they were huddled in a tight circle in the lee side of the valley seeking all the warmth possible. He located Renard's Gelding and began to saddle him, his cold fingers fumbling with the buckles and clasps. Wondering how his Nordic ancestors ever lived in this climate. He was not alone with his thoughts for long, the others too reluctantly leaving the warmth of the cave to saddle their mounts as well.
*****
Thirteen men left the valley that morning, only Raissa and Maya braved the cold to say goodbye, for the first time this camp was left in the hands of only slaves. No easy decision, but the settlement they had marked for destruction was large and would require all the warriors to prove a success. To fail was not an option.
