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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This is only a temporary condition. Aran tried his best to reassure himself. The pain in his back and shoulders most paramount. He would have given almost all to be able to put his arms at ease by his sides. He had walked all day, head down, eyes partly closed, one foot in front of the next. Each step the total measure of his world. There was not one part of his great body that did at this point not annoy him.
He longed to be free, the early days of captivity were always the hardest. His subjugators had been considerate in very few things but those most basic. They fed him well, gave him plenty to drink, and allowed him to relieve himself. That was the sum of their caring, he was livestock to be kept in good condition, but not to be trifled with.
The cart he had so steadily followed all day stopped. Aran was just grateful to stand, the dark was closing in and the camp was being set. He hung his head beginning to shiver as his body cooled. He had no option but to stand idle like a tethered horse. His calves and thighs ached, and the heavy shackles although lined in leather had chafed his ankles raw. The earth beckoned him, he so wanted to lie down, but the chain on his collar was too short to allow him to do so.
He could see a fire lit in the distance. His captors had erected some of the tents. He could smell meat roasting. They were heading south, he knew his people were only a few miles to the east. He was so tantalizingly close, yet he was so far.
Men were approaching. He tried to look behind, he was awkward and sore and moved slowly. It was as he figured, his two guards and his keeper. He looked away determined not to satisfy the mature man. Aran had never been artful at sub-ordinance even in his own well-ordered clan, it had caused him many issues in the past. Not to mention copious criticisms from his dear brother.
He was struck with a whip on the lower back, it was not the lightweight crop of earlier, it was a cat, designed to move a recalcitrant man such as himself. He flinched slightly but compared to his other discomforts it was nothing.
"You are very hardened." The voice behind him said, "and willful." Aran wondered what it was this man was trying to prove.
He ignored him looking away to the east, toward his desired home. The cat struck him again, a purposely low strike over his kidneys. Designed to be painful. Aran reacted to the stinging instrument this time. He turned and spat at his antagonist. For long moments the two men's eyes locked on one another in the fast-fading light, his tight-lipped aggressor unmoving as Aran's spittle dripped from his finery onto the sand.
The man smiled pulling the cat through his strong, short fingers. Even in this failing light, Aran could see they were the hands of a fighting man such as himself, they bore numerous tight scars just as his own did.
"I think he needs twenty-four more hours." He turned on his heel and left.
Aurianne peered at Aran from behind the tent flap unnoticed. He was some distance away still chained to the cart which was parked in the clearing. He was suffering now it was obvious in the posture of his body. He bore it well. He was her enemy yet she had to begrudgingly admit he was brave. Darius would have been the same way, possibly this was justice done for the torture of her beloved mentor and father figure. Where was he now? She missed him so strongly it tore at her.
