Warm, bloodied fingers touched Kaitanu’s face, but he neither pulled back nor resisted the following examination. What surprised him was the relative lack of invasiveness on Dravite’s part. The Drykas seemed content with looking over his face only, before pulling back to examine him with a critical eye. What he was thinking Kaitanu couldn’t tell. Dravite looked neither pleased nor displeased, and the kelvic hadn’t learned to read him yet.
The uncle was another matter entirely. Kaitanu knew the mercenary gleam in his eyes all too well. This, coupled with the man’s appearance, which brought back memories of the past, came together to form an unpleasant whole in the kelvic’s mind. Of the two men he wished most to escape the uncle but had no power to do so. It was probable that both men were ready to sell him off, so he wouldn’t be seeing the uncle anymore anyway.
What Kaitanu could never have predicted, nor even envisioned, was that he would move so close to freedom in those next few moments. The two Drykas were arguing in a language he didn’t understand at all, though he could guess well enough what about. It was a matter of indifference to the slave whether he was kept or sold, since one master was like another. Except… except not quite. Edmund Morealis had been somewhat less violent. There was no getting back to him now, so Kaitanu might as well accept his fate. Horses only lived for about 25 to 30 years, or so he was told. He probably wouldn’t last even that long.
These thoughts were not so much interrupted as accompanied by what he could gather from Dravite and Raven’s argument. Kaitanu knew little of the outcome, except that the younger man had won whatever point he was making. It seemed he was in charge, so whatever happened to Kaitanu would be Dravite’s decision. Not knowing what that decision was, the slave thought it best to do what he could to please his new, if temporary, master. He kept his pale head bowed, almost in reverence- masters tended to like that sort of thing. In addition, Kaitanu made a point of gathering his scattered thoughts and focusing on every move the Drykas made. If he missed some command because he didn’t understand the language it would all be the worse for the slave.
For the moment, Dravite’s actions were more or less understandable. Humans tended to be squeamish about nudity, and Kaitanu didn’t yet understand Drykas culture. Therefore, when Dravite brought a tunic and had Kaitanu dress, the slave thought nothing out of the ordinary in this. Nor, upon reflection, did he think it odd that the man should give him honey for his wound. That would keep him from bleeding all over the tunic, which would likely be given back when Kaitanu had been sold, or paid for by his new master. Certainly, Dravite’s actions indicated that was his plan; to sell the kelvic off. The few words he spoke in halting Common confirmed that theory. It did not occur to Kaitanu that, when Dravite spoke of being “favored by the gods” he was not referring to himself but the slave. Nor did Kaitanu understand what Dravite really meant to do at the market. Kaitanu was preparing himself for another change of hands, and the best he would hope for was a master too busy or lazy to beat him too often.
The slave followed his temporary master through the golden grass like a pale ghost. As was customary in Kenash he kept a pace behind Dravite, rather than right beside him, staying in the Drykas’ peripheral vision but clearly not in his league. For his part the slave watched the man from under his lashes. Mostly this was to anticipate a blow, though so far Dravite hadn’t done anything but nick his chin. Kaitanu wasn’t expecting to be addressed, though when it happened the questions made sense. Whatever auctioneers they had in this place would need to know a little about their merchandise.
“I was a slave in Kenash, my master. I served the Morealis family.” Kaitanu’s voice was soft, his tone deferential. Behind all that was a certain musical quality which no amount of beatings could get rid of entirely.
When the Drykas gave Kaitanu his name, the slave was confused for a moment. If Dravite was going to sell him, why did the slave need to know his name? And why was the Drykas looking at him so expectantly, as though they were freemen exchanging common courtesies? Kaitanu was the name the slavers had given him, but masters called their slaves whatever they pleased. Did the Drykas not know he could do so as well? Perhaps this one didn’t wish to bother, which was understandable.
“I am Kaitanu, my master.” The slave bobbed his head again.
When his eyes rose a little bit to see his way through the grass, they spotted a large collection of tents ahead. This was clearly the market to which Dravite was leading him, but it wasn’t like anything Kaitanu had ever seen before. Kenash and Ravok had tall buildings in neat rows, with carriages and carts and finely-dressed people. Here, the colors were light and somewhat more muted, or at least less fine. As Kaitanu drew close enough to see better he found that Dravite’s mode of dress wasn’t strange at all. The people in this place would have looked completely out of place in the elegant parlors of Kenash society, and even the commoner folk would have dismissed them as barbarians. Kaitanu could vaguely recall hearing that word used more than once. This was only because he was scouring his broken mind to try and recall anything he’d ever heard about Endrykas. He had the feeling there had been more but couldn’t bring any more of it back. Just a general idea of the roughness of the people.
What that meant for himself as a slave there was no telling, but he doubted he’d be very useful to these people outside of being a horse. As a human he stuck out, with his white skin and pale hair and slim figure. The inhabitants of the tent city were of many shades of brown and gold, all strong and hearty and leather-skinned. As Kaitanu and Dravite drew closer, people passing back and forth between the markets and their camps would stop and stare for a moment at the strange newcomer. Unlike them he had not yet been blessed by Syna’s golden rays. His skin was so near the color of the tunic that they might be forgiven for wondering if his whole body was made of that material. What his appearance and manner would seem like to them was not something Kaitanu wondered about. He was too busy trying to follow Dravite while staying out of everyone else’s way.
The uncle was another matter entirely. Kaitanu knew the mercenary gleam in his eyes all too well. This, coupled with the man’s appearance, which brought back memories of the past, came together to form an unpleasant whole in the kelvic’s mind. Of the two men he wished most to escape the uncle but had no power to do so. It was probable that both men were ready to sell him off, so he wouldn’t be seeing the uncle anymore anyway.
What Kaitanu could never have predicted, nor even envisioned, was that he would move so close to freedom in those next few moments. The two Drykas were arguing in a language he didn’t understand at all, though he could guess well enough what about. It was a matter of indifference to the slave whether he was kept or sold, since one master was like another. Except… except not quite. Edmund Morealis had been somewhat less violent. There was no getting back to him now, so Kaitanu might as well accept his fate. Horses only lived for about 25 to 30 years, or so he was told. He probably wouldn’t last even that long.
These thoughts were not so much interrupted as accompanied by what he could gather from Dravite and Raven’s argument. Kaitanu knew little of the outcome, except that the younger man had won whatever point he was making. It seemed he was in charge, so whatever happened to Kaitanu would be Dravite’s decision. Not knowing what that decision was, the slave thought it best to do what he could to please his new, if temporary, master. He kept his pale head bowed, almost in reverence- masters tended to like that sort of thing. In addition, Kaitanu made a point of gathering his scattered thoughts and focusing on every move the Drykas made. If he missed some command because he didn’t understand the language it would all be the worse for the slave.
For the moment, Dravite’s actions were more or less understandable. Humans tended to be squeamish about nudity, and Kaitanu didn’t yet understand Drykas culture. Therefore, when Dravite brought a tunic and had Kaitanu dress, the slave thought nothing out of the ordinary in this. Nor, upon reflection, did he think it odd that the man should give him honey for his wound. That would keep him from bleeding all over the tunic, which would likely be given back when Kaitanu had been sold, or paid for by his new master. Certainly, Dravite’s actions indicated that was his plan; to sell the kelvic off. The few words he spoke in halting Common confirmed that theory. It did not occur to Kaitanu that, when Dravite spoke of being “favored by the gods” he was not referring to himself but the slave. Nor did Kaitanu understand what Dravite really meant to do at the market. Kaitanu was preparing himself for another change of hands, and the best he would hope for was a master too busy or lazy to beat him too often.
The slave followed his temporary master through the golden grass like a pale ghost. As was customary in Kenash he kept a pace behind Dravite, rather than right beside him, staying in the Drykas’ peripheral vision but clearly not in his league. For his part the slave watched the man from under his lashes. Mostly this was to anticipate a blow, though so far Dravite hadn’t done anything but nick his chin. Kaitanu wasn’t expecting to be addressed, though when it happened the questions made sense. Whatever auctioneers they had in this place would need to know a little about their merchandise.
“I was a slave in Kenash, my master. I served the Morealis family.” Kaitanu’s voice was soft, his tone deferential. Behind all that was a certain musical quality which no amount of beatings could get rid of entirely.
When the Drykas gave Kaitanu his name, the slave was confused for a moment. If Dravite was going to sell him, why did the slave need to know his name? And why was the Drykas looking at him so expectantly, as though they were freemen exchanging common courtesies? Kaitanu was the name the slavers had given him, but masters called their slaves whatever they pleased. Did the Drykas not know he could do so as well? Perhaps this one didn’t wish to bother, which was understandable.
“I am Kaitanu, my master.” The slave bobbed his head again.
When his eyes rose a little bit to see his way through the grass, they spotted a large collection of tents ahead. This was clearly the market to which Dravite was leading him, but it wasn’t like anything Kaitanu had ever seen before. Kenash and Ravok had tall buildings in neat rows, with carriages and carts and finely-dressed people. Here, the colors were light and somewhat more muted, or at least less fine. As Kaitanu drew close enough to see better he found that Dravite’s mode of dress wasn’t strange at all. The people in this place would have looked completely out of place in the elegant parlors of Kenash society, and even the commoner folk would have dismissed them as barbarians. Kaitanu could vaguely recall hearing that word used more than once. This was only because he was scouring his broken mind to try and recall anything he’d ever heard about Endrykas. He had the feeling there had been more but couldn’t bring any more of it back. Just a general idea of the roughness of the people.
What that meant for himself as a slave there was no telling, but he doubted he’d be very useful to these people outside of being a horse. As a human he stuck out, with his white skin and pale hair and slim figure. The inhabitants of the tent city were of many shades of brown and gold, all strong and hearty and leather-skinned. As Kaitanu and Dravite drew closer, people passing back and forth between the markets and their camps would stop and stare for a moment at the strange newcomer. Unlike them he had not yet been blessed by Syna’s golden rays. His skin was so near the color of the tunic that they might be forgiven for wondering if his whole body was made of that material. What his appearance and manner would seem like to them was not something Kaitanu wondered about. He was too busy trying to follow Dravite while staying out of everyone else’s way.
