Dun dun dun!
The slave wagon stunk of sweat, fear, and pain. At least, that’s how Tabetha remembered it. Her nose had stopped bleeding, but she still couldn’t smell a damned thing right now. That would have been nicer if she couldn’t feel the same emotions on her fingers, every time she gripped the grimy, greasy wood and metal. The metal collar she could smell, only that was mostly cruelty and hate. You had to be a seriously messed-up person to put a slave collar on another human being, but the Dominion was real good at finding folks eager to do just that.
And here I thought I’d never be on the wrong side of a cage door again, she thought to herself. Swore an oath, and everything. Guess I shouldn’t have done that.
Purty was nestled up against Island Lake, one of the few reliable sources of water in this part of the mountains. It was clumped on the east side, with a solid walled gate that was three-quarters done. That was still too high for attackers to climb without getting picked off by archers in the three finished corner towers, and the fort would only get more formidable as more of it got put up.