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The cart rocked slowly back and forth, piercing beams of sunlight dancing across the walls of the interior, poking through slats in the side. Though, these slats weren't useful in terms of an escape.

Myra had already tried. Over and over again. Now, she and her brother Aryn lay slumped against the one wall, sharp green eyes watching the sunbeams, each of their minds focused on their new futures. If one could truly call them that.

Man'ahjit. A slave mine. In old Falskin, this name translated over to as 'Beast Torment', a fact that Myra only knew because her father had once remarked on that humorously.

There was nothing funny about this now, though. On their way to this camp, not as VIPs, or even regular Falskin civilians. No, they were going as slaves.

According to the stories her friends had related to her about this place, Man'ahjit was a literal hell on earth, where people were treated like animals, and were forced to work from dawn to dusk. And matters could still get worse. They always could.

In this case, the situation was worsened by the sole fact that Myra and Aryn, unlike any other slaves at the mine, were Falskin. And since Falskin were viewed by the Ch'kiliil captives held there as horrid monsters, the siblings weren't expecting mercy from them. Not one shred of it.

The Ch'kiliil Myra and Aryn were familiar with were about as friendly as you could get. Even Kar'na, the infamous assassin, was an amazing friend to her.

Oh Kar'na...

The white wolf, in an effort to prevent the two Falskin siblings from making the biggest mistake of their lives, had been shot by an archer, while the army simply left him bleeding in the snow. Not that the Falskin would help, of course.

Myra held a faint hope in her heart that her good friend, who had saved her life more than once, was still alive, but, as previously stated, this hope was only faint. She'd seen the bow and the archer wielding it. Niwa, one of the best Falskin archers who ever lived.

She'd seen the arrow impact. She'd watched the point of that deadly weapon emerge from the assassin's back. She'd noted that Kar'na hadn't moved a muscle on the ground. Not even to try and move. All she'd seen was him collapse, with a pool of red spreading out from him, a crimson circle, staining glistening snow and pure fur.

A tear threatened to leak out of Myra's eye, but she resolutely refused to cry. Kar'na wouldn't want that. And Myra wanted the white wolf's legacy to live on. If she remained unbroken, it would be a testimony to the wolf.

I'm sorry Kar'na, Myra thought, her mind refusing to divert from the path it was stuck in. We shouldn't have gone. You would've figured out was best. And now, because of us, you're probably dead. If you can hear me, I want to apologize.

The interior of the wagon remained quiet, aside from the creaking of the wheels, and the clop of the horses' hooves. No magical voice from the heavens, nor subtle sign of the gods.

"Myra?" her brother Aryn asked from beside her. "What's going to happen to us?"

Myra glanced down at her younger brother. He didn't deserve this. _She_didn't deserve this. No one in the universe deserved this future, except for perhaps, Drysenn. And her father.

Thinking of the beast she called her father made Myra mad. That monster, to satisfy his petty honour, had made it the concern of his lord, Drysenn. Possibly the greatest of the Falskin lords, whom Myra had nearly idolized growing up, had bent knee to her father, to arrest her and her brother, and sell them into slavery.

"Myra?" Aryn repeated.

"I...I don't know, Aryn," Myra answered truthfully, gazing at the wall. "We're going to Man'ahjit. I'm sure we'll be fine."

"But how?" Aryn demanded, a solitary tear leaking from his eye. "We're going to a slave camp, full of people who hate us. We're going to die!"

"At least, we still have each other," Myra said softly, squeezing Aryn's hand. "We can get through this together. Kiri and the others did, we can do it!"

"But we're not the others," Aryn sniffled, as the cart stopped. "The others are brave, and skilled, and clever. We're just us!"

"We're always more than just us. Remember, we made it halfway across Parai, with an angry Drysenn at our back. The slaves escaped once, so we can too."

"Right," Aryn said, taking a deep calming breath. "We will survive this."

Suddenly, the door flew open, flooding the interior with the full light of the sun, which was beginning to set. The siblings winced, and tried to see what was outside. There, silhouetted against the door, was the shape of a Falskin.

"Alright," the driver sneered, stepping aside. "We're here. Come on out."

After a moment of hesitation, the two Sanvar'a moved for the door, and stepped outside, into the slightly cooler air of southern Parai. Before them, a series of small shacks sat, ringing a central commons area. Milling in this common area were many slaves, not a scrap of fabric between them, though their fur concealed everything, more or less.

"Move," the driver hissed. "It's processing first. And don't think that just because you're the Sanvar'a that we won't whip you. Nay, your father gave us orders to watch you two _extra_closely."

He leered.

"So move it."

They hurriedly did so, heading with the driver up to a large house on top of a hill. At least, it looked like a house, with large stone walls and a thick door. Two Falskin appeared to be milling on the roof, and they gave the Falskin siblings a curious stare.

The driver paid no attention to the two on the roof, and pushed the siblings through the wooden door. Inside, the lobby was barren stone, with cold metal bars over the window. A lush red carpet crawled up the centre, towards a large desk, where an ugly yellow-ish tinged Falskin sat. He looked up at the others approach.

"Is this the delivery I was supposed to expect?"

"Yeah," the driver agreed, pushing the two siblings forwards. "Myra and Aryn Sanvar'a, the disgraced children of Sanvar Setir'a, steward of Drysenn hold. These two are to be enlisted as regular slaves."

"I see," the Falskin said, licking his lips. "What are their ages?"

"Seventeen and fourteen," their driver supplied. "But that is irrelevant. They are to be stationed in the adult section of the camp."

"They are qualified to fit in the youth section," the bookkeeper said quizzically, tilting his head at the slave driver.

"Sanvar's orders. I think he wanted them forced to be amongst the Ch'kiliil, instead of alone in the youth hut. They're less likely to make it through intact that way."

"I see," the yellow Falskin grinned, a sadistic note in his voice. "Well, we'll have them strip, then it's off to the forge."

"No," the driver said, shaking his head again. "They are to be left with their clothes. This way, they'll be even more of a target. I mean, if they wanted to get rid of them, that's their choice. But then they'd be no better than the animals they're with."

"Very well," the bookkeeper nodded, pounding a stamp onto a fresh piece of parchment. "Their order has been processed. I assume we're sending them in there without preparation? To draw an even bigger target?"

"No point training them if they'll be dead in a week anyways," the driver stated. "We weren't told not to, but I see no point."

"I dem-" Myra began, before being cut off with a hefty slap by the driver. She staggered backwards.

"Do not speak until bidden," he hissed, a horrible grin stretching on his face. "Otherwise, worse may yet befall you."

"Don't touch my sister!" Aryn yelled, jumping at the driver. The Falskin barely reacted, other than to bat the boy aside with the butt of his whip. Aryn fell to the ground, a large bleeding gash on his head.

"The same rules apply to you, boy. And never, never, lay a hand on the drivers. We are your bosses now. We are your gods."

"Too bad I'm a non-believer," Aryn said defiantly, attaining his knees. The driver's face twisted savagely, but he did nothing more. The boy would learn his place, or die trying.

"Follow me," the driver said. "We're going to the Forge."

The way he said this was decidedly unpleasant to the two siblings, but they did as they were beckoned. The driver led the two of them out of the house and down the hill, towards a squat, grey-walled building, with a few chimneys belching black smoke upon the roof.

"Come along," the driver snarled when the siblings began to fall back. "Or do you want me to beat you to death right here?"

The siblings quickly picked up their pace, rushing behind the driver. He led them inside, where the temperature immediately spiked by a couple thousand degrees. Even to the two Falskin, this place was hot, boiling at the blood, and sucking out all water. A pall of filthy smoke stuck close to the ceiling, while massive open doors belched fire.

Around the forge were many grizzled-looking Ch'kiliil, each weather leather clothes, and bearing a multitude of scars. More than one was missing an ear, and many of them wore burnt patches of fur. Some of these slaves were busy crafting items, while others were pouring metal from large cauldrons into baked molds.

The driver led them over to one wall, and chained them both up there, hands above their heads, and backs to the forge.

"Grey!" their driver called, his voice muted in the smoke and ash. Myra had to resist the urge to cough.

"Yeah boss?" a growling voice asked, in an accent that Myra recognized. Though she didn't know many Ch'kiliil, and had only spent a few days in their homeland of Arlea, she was fairly skilled at being able to determine the various accents and speech patterns present in their species. And from the way that this new individual spoke, Myra guessed it was likely a wolf.

"These two need a marking. They're new here."

"Falskin nobles?" the voice asked, nearly confirming it for Myra. "What are they doing here?"

"There presence is no concern of yours," the driver snapped. "Just mark them, as is your job. Understand?"

"Aye boss."

Heavy footsteps moved away from the group, returning just a bit later. Myra felt a touch of heat right near the back of her neck, and felt her heart drop. She had a pretty good idea of what was coming. Kiri and his friends had all borne their brands at the backs of their necks.

"No," the driver's voice said, from over Myra's left shoulder. "Not her. She's got more spirit. Tag the younger one first."

"No!" Myra said, struggling against the manacles to no avail. She looked over, as a massive grey-furred wolf with only one eye approached Aryn with a metal rod, the tip of which was red hot and shaped into a pattern.

She couldn't look away as the wolf pressed the searing piece of metal against Aryn's next. The young Falskin arched his back and screamed towards the heavens, as the metal forever thereafter left a mark into his skin. In a few seconds, where the sadistic wolf continued to press the metal, Aryn finally slumped, only his manacles holding him upright.

"Aryn..." Myra whispered, as a gnawing guilt hit her. The smell of the Falskin's seared flesh hit her nostrils, and she exhaled forcefully. This was wrong. It was wrong, on so many levels.

"Your turn," the driver said, turning to Myra. His face was distorted by the same sadistic grin which the wolf wore.

The wolf turned to her, and stepped out of view again. Myra tensed, awaiting the inevitable. She thought she was prepared, but nothing could have prepared her for the sheer agony that the brand applied. Myra nearly screamed in pain, but held her tongue, quivering from the pain. She wasn't going to give these sadists the satisfaction of hearing her scream.

The brand continued to burn hot against her neck, until finally it was released. The smell of Myra's own burning skin hit her nose, and she nearly threw up.

"Well," the driver said, sounding somewhat disappointed. "You are a stronger one than I gave you credit for, Sanvar'a."

The manacles around her wrists opened, and she collapsed to her knees, stomach heaving. Aryn was released a moment later, and he too collapsed to the ground. Only, he didn't catch himself, landing on the ground in a crumpled heap.

"Get them to their hut," the driver ordered. "Time for them to meet their new...friends..."

Myra was in considerable pain, as the two large brutes of Ch'kiliil brought her and her brother to the commons area they'd seen previously. Apparently, these slaves carried heavy objects often, because they seemed to have no troubles carrying the two Falskin.

One was a large bear, while the other was a much lighter otter. Aryn rested on the otter's back, while Myra rested on the bear's.

She knew neither of their names. She had not asked, and they had not supplied. In fact, the whole trip, they'd said nothing.

When they eventually reached the commons, one knocked at the door to one of the huts, which was opened by a slave inside, a hyena, appearing somewhere in his mid-twenties. His eyes widened at the slaves, and he stepped aside, admitting the two through.

Once in the hut, the two slaves unceremoniously dropped the two of them into the dirt, before turning and leaving, slamming the door shut behind them. Myra turned to look at the occupants of the cabin with wide eyes. Standing, laying, or sitting around were thirty or so Ch'kiliil, of all sort of variable species.

"Well, well, well," a large bear rumbled, stepping off from the wall. "What do we have here? A couple of scalies? What're you doing here, scaly? This isn't your territory."

He had a grin on his face, that made Myra nervous, but she refused to be cowed. She was the only line of defense for her brother.

"I asked you a question, scaly. What're you doing here, so far from your walled cities? Here on a field trip, to learn about us beasts?"

"No," Myra answered, her voice's clarity surprising her. "I am here for the same reason as you. As of today, my brother and I are now slaves."

"And why should we believe you, Scaly? Here you sit in the dust, unafraid, wearing nice, fancy clothes. I think you're lying. I think we should kill you and use your skin for gloves."

"I'm not lying," Myra said resolutely. "And I have my brand to prove it!"

She turned her head slightly, showing the assembled cabin at large the leering, ugly mark. The symbol on her neck, the symbol on all their necks, the mark of Drysenn. The bear's only eye, his left one, widened slightly, but then he grinned even wider.

"If you're here as a slave, then the guards won't care what we do to you. They don't stop us. They don't even care."

"Chach," a wolfess snapped sharply, stepping between the bear and the siblings. "They won't stop us, but these two are slaves now, just as we are. They are no different than us."

"No different?" a panther exclaimed, stepping forwards. "Just look at them! They've got scales, and we don't. They've got fancy clothes, and we don't. They are scar free, and we are not."

"They have their brands," the wolfess countered. "And in my eyes, that makes them equal to us."

"You've always been soft, Aida," Chach growled. "First with that stupid wolf boy, then here. Defending reptiles."

He said the word with such contempt that Myra briefly felt bad for even being a Falskin, before remembering where she was.

"I think if you love the lizards so much, maybe you should join them in their fate. Because, like it or not, they're going to die tonight."

"You call me soft, Chach, but remember, I seem to know how to take out eyes. And your remaining one would be a fine addition to my tally."

"And we stand with our alpha," another wolf said, stepping towards Aida. "You mess with the wolf, you get the fang."

"And when dogs throw their honour amongst reptiles, you make the enemies of us," a rather short lion hissed. "Choose your side carefully, wolf."

"Back off, now," a lynx ordered, going to stand beside Aida and the wolves. The entire cabin was now firmly on one side or another, and the air was so tense that if someone had sneezed, there would've been fatalities.

Finally, Chach seemed to slouch slightly. "Don't think you've won Aida. Keep pushing my anger, and you'll end up just like your friends K'eyush and Dakir. Dead by my hand. And left in a ditch."

"And keep prodding the pack, and you shall end up much like your father. Hanging from a yardarm. So watch yourself, Chach."

The bear glowered, but retired back to his side, leaning against the wall. Aida glared at him for a time, before turning to Myra, and kneeling down to her level.

The wolfess was grey furred, with black tint colouring her ears and a few lines on her face. Two jet-black lines of fur darted through her eyes, making it seem like a tribal painting. The black fur made her blue eyes stand out startling, appearing similar to Kiri's.

"You alright?" the she-wolf asked, tilting her head slightly. Myra could barely stop staring at how the eyes stood out against the rest of her face.

"I'm fine," Myra nodded. "Thanks for protecting us."

"Hey," Aida grinned. "No worries. So, what brings you to Ma'ahjit? It's not normal that we see any of your kind here among us."

Myra looked over at the wolf and decided she could trust her. Aida seemed pretty trustworthy, and was the only one who stood up for the siblings. Well, her and her pack. The lynx and a few others too.

"My brother and I were put into slavery by our father," Myra explained. "He was furious with us for taking the wrong side in a feud."

"What feud?" Aida asked, seeming legitimately interested, even if she seemed reluctant to sit next to the Falskin siblings. Myra could hardly blame the wolfess, but it still highlighted just how tough a time Myra and Aryn were going to have here.

"The fight between Ch'kiliil and Falskin," Myra explained, looking at the others in the cabin, most of whom were engaged in small talk with each other. "Aryn and I chose the side of your people, before our father captured us and put us in here."

"That's gotta hurt," Aida said, somewhat sympathetically. "Why'd you choose our side? Our people are nothing alike."

"I met one of your kind not far from my house, many weeks back. I took him, and the others with him, storing them in my barn for a night, and giving them food and medicine. They were apparently slaves, and the two of us went with them to the border. To Arlea."

"Ah, Arlea," Aida said, somewhat whistfully. "I remember my homeland. Large stony crags, like jutting teeth. Many mountains, and where there were no mountains, there were trees. And where there were no trees, there was snow. I miss home..."

She said it so wistfully, that Myra wanted to hug the wolfess.

"Anyways," Aida shook her head. "What were these Ch'kiliil's names?"

"The first one was named Kiri, and he came fr-"

"Kiri?" Aida asked, her eyes widening. "Wait, Kiri? He survived?"

"You know him?" Myra asked, briefly thinking that it probably made sense. They were from the same mine after all.

"Know him?" Aida snorted. "I was one of the ones who helped save his hide when he first moved to the youth cabin. Me and my pack. But, he's alive? Kiri's alive?"

"Absolutely," Myra nodded. "He and his friends escaped one night, during that huge storm. They dove into the river, and made it to my house. There, I bandaged them all up."

"So they do live," Aida mused. "When that storm had abated, the keepers came to us with the news that that group had tried to escape in the storm, and been killed. It almost crushed me. But they live!"

Impulsively, the she-wolf quickly grabbed Myra in a hug, making the Falskin twitch slightly. When Aida released Myra, she leaned back and looked the reptilian evenly in the eye.

"My pack will help you out and protect you," she said. "At least, until we can figure out a way to escape from this hellhole. And we're _going_to escape, understand?"

Myra nodded, and Aida bared her teeth in a wolfish grin.

"May the moons watch over us."