Groveling

The slaver starts limping, moving from one cage to another. “Well, M’lord.” He stops by her cage. “It depends on what you’re looking for. You can take the Norse girl…” He says, patting the blonde girl’s cage, making her cringe and sob again. He limps further away. “The fiery one, or her sister.” His short, fat fingers brush against a redhead’s cage. He soft beg can barely be heard. “Please don’t split us apart…” The slaver kicks her cage and hobbles walking. “We have one from a wilders tribe.” He grins his yellow crooked teeth, presenting a girl that looked too skinny to walk.

The tall man’s face darkened, his features hardened, sharpened, anger building up behind his crimson eyes.