Your fortune, and your perspective.

After the fight your owner, Oren, takes you back home. Home, to you, is an enclosed cage in the back of a wagon. Oren is a moderately successful **** trader, and he constantly travels all across Northalkin lands seeking prime stock. As such, you spend your life on the move.

Despite Oren's profession, he never sold you. You are his prize fighter, and you are worth far more in the long term than any price he could negotiate for you. Due to your valuable status, you receive the best treatment of any of Oren's slaves. You eat well, are allowed to rest longer than the others, and even get an entire wagon, all to yourself, to live in.

Needless to say, you are surprised to find your cage already occupied upon your return.

She has black hair that, if it was not a tangled mess, would fall in elegant curling waves. Her glacial blue eyes dart back and forth warily, and she crouches in the far corner of your cage, her posture highlighting the sleek muscle beneath the skin of her legs. She wears only a short, too-small shift that draws attention to her small, firm breasts. Beneath the thin, translucent white fabric, you can clearly see angry red marks all across her; the painful reminders borne by those who have tasted the kiss of a whip.

The mercenary escorting you, noting your confusion, explains:

"She's useless." He begins with contempt evident in his voice. "Not responding to training." He shrugs. "So Oren decided to give her to you, as a reward for all your wins in the pits."

You nod silently and climb into the wagon. The woman recoils at your small approach, and you hear the cage door close and lock behind you.

"Enjoy yourself." The mercenary says, chuckling. "But be careful, she bites."

You take up a position in the opposite corner from her and sit down, your sharp brown eyes tracking her every motion.

Some time passes before she meets your gaze, and when she does, you understand her. You see in her eyes a look that you yourself bore many years ago.

She was tired, you saw, ****. She had been tortured relentlessly, and she wanted to obey, to submit, to make the pain stop. But she couldn't. Her hatred and pride demanded defiance to those who humiliated her so, and try as she might, she could not ignore them.

In that moment, you also knew what she needed. What you needed. What you never received.

Kindness.

You raise one hand towards her, palm up, a calming gesture.

"It's alright." You say, your voice raspy and strained from disuse. "I won't hurt you."