It was something else.
And that something was way bad.
So as I surveyed my surroundings, I decided that I had to get out of that something bad but I was in a pen, for goodness sakes, being leered at by icky men and looked over by people who appeared to be natives of some weird, foreign fantasyland.
And furthermore, to get out I had to know what I was in.
So I paid attention and took in my surroundings.
And the thing I noticed, outside what was going on on the outskirts of our pen, was that there were different kinds of women in the pen. There were those with black hair, dark eyes and tanned skin
– in fact, this was the vast majority of the women. And they did not seem panicked or scared. They seemed content, some chatting to others in a language I didn’t understand, others holding themselves separate and eyeing their compatriots in a guarded or even calculating way (and it made matters worse that a lot of these kinds of looks were aimed at me). Some even preening for the onlookers.
Then there were others who were not like them. Not many, I counted three.
These women looked scared out of their brains.
These women were like me.
And once I made this realization, I decided what I was going to do first. I had no clue what I was going to do second but at least I knew what I was going to do first.
And that was, find out what the fuck was going on.
It appeared we had freedom to walk around and talk so I decided my target, got up and started to walk over to her.
This was a mistake. The guards hadn’t forgotten my minor freak out and dark, forbidding eyes came to me. Also, onlookers who had witnessed my freak out turned their attention to me likely because they were keen to see what happened next. And further, nearly every black-haired, dark-eyed woman in the corral pinned her eyes on me and they did it in a way that didn’t feel all that great.
Um… yikes.
Cautiously, I persevered and walked across the pen to a woman with pale skin, light brown hair and light-colored eyes. She didn’t look panicked, as such. On closer inspection, she didn’t even really look scared. She looked resigned and she looked wired. Like something was about to happen and she was mentally preparing for whatever that was in a way that took all of her concentration.
I made my way across the pen and jumped when one of the black-haired women reached out and pinched me, hard, on the sensitive skin behind my arm.
“Ouch!” I snapped, my hand going to the skin, my eyes going to her.
She leaned forward and hissed at me from between her teeth sounding like a snake.
I jumped further and scuttled away.
Jeez, what was that all about? Bee-yatch.
I glared at her as I backed away and when I was out of her reach, I turned back to my target. I saw she’d stopped concentrating on whatever she was concentrating on and had her eyes on me.
“Hey,” I said quietly when I got to her, her brows drew slightly together, her head tipped a bit to the side and she replied hesitantly,
“Erm… hey.”
“Do you, um… mind talking?” I asked.
“No,” she said softly.
Awesome, she spoke English.
Then I watched a small, weird smile play at her lips. “Especially not since you’re the first person I’ve talked to from Hawkvale since I was taken.”
Oh no.
Taken?
Oh no part two.
Hawkvale?
I was getting the distinct impression she had not woken here from a dream. Not like me.
Her hand came out and captured mine, holding strong, her eyes searching mine, she whispered, “It’ll be good knowing, once we’re claimed, someone close will be from home.”
Um.
On no again.
Claimed?
She’d spoken two sentences and we already had a lot of ground to cover so I prioritized.
“I’m not from Hawkvale,” I told her and her head tipped further to the side.
“Bellebryn?” she asked.
