The leader was silent, eyes still fixed on the hunter as he thought the offer over. The hunter was fairly sure that it would be taken; one slave was an equal trade for their lives. The moments dragged on and he flicked his gaze towards the falcon in the sky; he didn’t know what she knew when it came to human weapons, but he hoped that she would warn him if any of the weapons found themselves pointed in his direction.
The slaver came to the end of his contemplation, and the cheerful mask of a good salesman was slammed over his face. He waved the hunter towards the caravan, and the Drykas warily urged Akaidras after. The stallion seemed to realize the tense nature of the situation, and thankfully did not resist. Neither steed nor rider were yet completely comfortable with their roles, but now they would have to cooperate. They were entering the lion’s den.
The rest of the slavers made way for the massive beast, and the hunter did his best to appear like he was ignoring them.
The door of the cage was opened, and the Drykas slid from his strider’s back. Akaidras was almost vibrating with restrained energy, ready to explode with violence at the first sign of threat. Perhaps the slavers could sense it. They kept their distance.
The hunter, too, was alive with caution. One hand was ready to dart to one of the javelins at his back, but he dared not risk a confrontation with the slavers by drawing arms first. Though he was no doubt in better health, their sheer numbers would easily overwhelm him. But he had come this far; he had no indention of backing off now. He stepped into the cage.
Some of the slaves shied away. Some crouched to make themselves look smaller. Others bared their teeth, ready to fight should he decide to strike them, and still others just watched him with distrustful desperation. But then there were those very few who did none of those things, just simply stood and watched him with an apathetic curiosity. A dead curiosity. And it was one of those that caught his eye.
At first the hunter wasn’t quite sure what he was seeing; the rest of the slaves stayed a few feet away from the figure leaning against the bars, making it stick out like a sore thumb. But a glance revealed that they were not doing so out of fear; the space around it was filled with thick coils that gleamed dully. Its head was that of a snake; angular, sleek, motionless. Could it be?
He had heard whispers of the Dhani, the snake-people. But he had never paid much thought to them, thinking them little more than tales to scare children to sleep. He had heard second- and third-hand accounts of encounters with them, but never given them heed. He had thought them, for all intents and purposes, little more than legends. But here was one before him, leaning calmly against the bars. A slave? Would a creature with such a fearsome reputation ever become such a thing? Surely it would have escaped?
He looked into its eyes and his breath caught.
Broken power. Ghosts of forgotten pride and grace, wounds that had never healed properly. Completely and totally emotionless. Uncaring.
Its scales were the color of mud, marred by countless scars and missing scales. Innumerable injuries had been dealt to this creature, injuries that had healed almost on display for the world to see.
This Dhani did not deserve to die here, in the Sea of Grass.
The hunter squared with the Dhani and tilted his head.
“Turn around,” he rasped. He needed to see the full extent of the injuries.
The slaver came to the end of his contemplation, and the cheerful mask of a good salesman was slammed over his face. He waved the hunter towards the caravan, and the Drykas warily urged Akaidras after. The stallion seemed to realize the tense nature of the situation, and thankfully did not resist. Neither steed nor rider were yet completely comfortable with their roles, but now they would have to cooperate. They were entering the lion’s den.
The rest of the slavers made way for the massive beast, and the hunter did his best to appear like he was ignoring them.
The door of the cage was opened, and the Drykas slid from his strider’s back. Akaidras was almost vibrating with restrained energy, ready to explode with violence at the first sign of threat. Perhaps the slavers could sense it. They kept their distance.
The hunter, too, was alive with caution. One hand was ready to dart to one of the javelins at his back, but he dared not risk a confrontation with the slavers by drawing arms first. Though he was no doubt in better health, their sheer numbers would easily overwhelm him. But he had come this far; he had no indention of backing off now. He stepped into the cage.
Some of the slaves shied away. Some crouched to make themselves look smaller. Others bared their teeth, ready to fight should he decide to strike them, and still others just watched him with distrustful desperation. But then there were those very few who did none of those things, just simply stood and watched him with an apathetic curiosity. A dead curiosity. And it was one of those that caught his eye.
At first the hunter wasn’t quite sure what he was seeing; the rest of the slaves stayed a few feet away from the figure leaning against the bars, making it stick out like a sore thumb. But a glance revealed that they were not doing so out of fear; the space around it was filled with thick coils that gleamed dully. Its head was that of a snake; angular, sleek, motionless. Could it be?
He had heard whispers of the Dhani, the snake-people. But he had never paid much thought to them, thinking them little more than tales to scare children to sleep. He had heard second- and third-hand accounts of encounters with them, but never given them heed. He had thought them, for all intents and purposes, little more than legends. But here was one before him, leaning calmly against the bars. A slave? Would a creature with such a fearsome reputation ever become such a thing? Surely it would have escaped?
He looked into its eyes and his breath caught.
Broken power. Ghosts of forgotten pride and grace, wounds that had never healed properly. Completely and totally emotionless. Uncaring.
Its scales were the color of mud, marred by countless scars and missing scales. Innumerable injuries had been dealt to this creature, injuries that had healed almost on display for the world to see.
This Dhani did not deserve to die here, in the Sea of Grass.
The hunter squared with the Dhani and tilted his head.
“Turn around,” he rasped. He needed to see the full extent of the injuries.