Kaitlyn's departure left a gloomy feeling in my chest. I was used to being punished for acting out, but this was another level entirely. I could only hope her promise about us leaving soon was real, but my heart sank as I looked around the cages. Judging by some of the more emaciated slaves, whose heads drooped and eyes stared listlessly, I might not see the sun for a while. Still, I found myself hoping I'd be taken somewhere else soon, where ever that might be. It can't be worse than living life locked in this cage. What were we even supposed to do for food or water? I didn't bother asking about a bathroom, as that was answered by the squalid stench of feces mixed in with the dust.
I gingerly felt at my face, where a dark bruise marred my cheek. I was no stranger to pain, but the throbbing wounds all over my body felt different. Until now, my life had been filled with violence for the sake of others' pleasure or arousal, a bid for a reaction rather than suffering. I'd perfected my act and learned to satisfy their twisted desires while still protecting myself, but found those skills useless now. This world oppressed for the sake of oppression and used pain as a method of control, regardless of any reaction it garnered.
Just thinking of my situation brought hot tears trickling down my cheeks unhindered. Sniffling, I curled up and closed my eyes "Oh, God…" I began, then snapped my mouth shut.
Prayer had been a habit for me. It was one of my few comforts in a hopeless life, that somewhere, maybe, a merciful being was watching me. Whenever I was beaten senseless or drenched in despair, I prayed for all I was worth, sending my fears and sorrow to whatever god was listening. I shuddered as I recalled the immense colosseum of gods, unable to find it in me to pray. No doubt they'd simply mock my tears, laughing at the hero they'd sent down into slavery.
Lost within a darkness even my eyes failed to breach, I squeezed my eyes shut and curled up in a ball. Surely this was all just a dream. Please be a dream.
Unfortunately, reality came knocking early the next day. Shortly after the sun rose, I was awakened by the loud crash of chains. Weak and groggy, I suppressed a sigh and sat up. Might as well see what's going on.
The warehouse doors opened, and another wagon was parked outside. A few slavers dragged several more slaves into the room, locking them in cages near mine. For some reason, I kind of assumed I was the last, but it seems that's not the case.
The newcomers looked beaten and weary, with species as varied as my batch. Wherever we had come from must have been hit hard. I straightened, squinting to peer closely as the last slave was dragged in. His familiar horns and tail gave rise to curiosity, and I pressed my face against the bars as they dragged him past. His elderly body was bowed with age, but his eyes were filled with scorn, staring at his captors and the other slaves with disdain.
Looking at him was the closest to getting a mirror I would get, and I tried to superimpose my features on his own, forming a mental picture of myself. His skin was slightly redder, but as smooth and unblemished as my own. His horns were shaped like a crown and his tail dragged behind him in discontentment. Shockingly enough, his pupils were little more than slits and glowed an angry red. I shivered and touched my brow. Hopefully, my eyes were a little softer and not quite as scary.
Now that it was light, I found my vision to be even sharper than before. I could see the other slaves in great detail despite the dusty air, but that only made me feel worse. Nearly everyone looked like a bag of dried skin stretched thin over old bones. There were few who weren't covered in wounds and sores, or sporting at least one broken bone. Almost all were beastkin, although none of my particular species aside from the old man.
Beastkin was a term I heard from one of the slaves. It referred to anyone with animalistic features, be it horns, ears, or even arms. Different species of beastkin were known for their animal heritage. Foxkin, Bearkin, Owlkin, etc.
After the slavers left, Kaitlyn appeared and gave her welcoming speech. She was dressed in more modest clothing this time around, yet still something I'd expect to see on whores in the street. She left abruptly after, leaving us in silence once more. Time passed slowly, the hours crawling by one after the other. Soon, hunger cramps seized my stomach, slowly gnawing away at my sanity. Growing desperate for something to take the edge off, I tried to reach the wonderfully warm feeling I assumed was magic. Although I was largely unsuccessful, it provided a welcome distraction.
After an eternity, the warehouse doors finally opened, and Kaitlyn walked through pushing a cart filled with stale bread and crusty waterskins. Was this the route to the midden heap? Realization dawned on me as she began throwing the refuse into cages. What food more fitting for a slave? I sighed, any complaints overwhelmed by the hole in my stomach. At least they intended to feed us.
Occasionally, a piece of bread would bounce off the bars and end up on the floor, only to be snatched up by the resident of the nearest cage. Kaitlyn acted completely unaware of the occurrence, perhaps feeling it too much of a bother, and would continue walking.
I ducked as a small piece of bread flew into my cage. It struck the ground like a rock on cement, sliding back until it stopped against the back bars. Hesitation driven away by hunger, I picked it up and squeezed it, wincing as it refused to give. It had a rough, grainy texture that made me question whether it was even edible. Putting it aside for now, I turned my attention to the small water skin passed through the bars. My throat was swollen and sore from dehydration and the excessive amounts of dust in the air. Pulling aside the stopper, I bit the neck and squeezed for all I was worth. Spluttering as a deluge of viscous fluid filled my throat, I barely noticed the bitter taste and drained the skin by more than half. All at once, the slimy liquid caught up with me, and I dropped the skin, retching until my lungs hurt.
As the coughs died away, I grabbed the waterskin, saving what little was left. Hunger soon drove away my disgust, as I hadn't eaten since my arrival. The bread was hard and nearly impossible to chew, and I gave up after a few teeth-cracking attempts. After some observation, I noticed the other slaves softening the bread with the water. After I dribbled the remaining water onto the bread, it softened just enough to gnaw on. After the water, It wasn't all bad, meaning it was blessedly flavorless, and slowly devouring it gave me something to do for the next few hours.
By the time night fell, I regretted downing all the water immediately. It seems sustenance only comes once a day, meaning I was left to choke on the dusty air until tomorrow. Suffering the consequences of my splurge, I endured the night until my eyes grew heavy. Eventually, weakness and hunger drove me unconscious, and I was blessed with a fitful sleep throughout the night.