[Brinniel]

The slaves talked among themselves, each eagerly making up their minds on what they would do next. None had expected to get this far and at this point, any wrong move could be fatal.

As the slaves spoke in their excited voices, Desolyn sat alone several feet away, hugging her knees as she grimaced in pain. The Hunt had taken its toll on her. The wounds on her back had reopened multiple times, bleeding through her tunic. Her knees ached from weariness of travel. And though Desolyn's feet were calloused from never wearing shoes, they still blistered and bled constantly. Fearing that her blood may mark a trail, Des had earlier binded her feet in haste with pieces of her rags, but she soon discovered that it was useless, as the rags were almost immediately torn to shreds. To make it worse, Desolyn now found herself in an internal struggle. She had heard what Rhunnaro had asked Fionel earlier and ever since, the question troubled her greatly.

"You had not thought beyond escape, had you? What will you do when you are in that great stone city. Who will take you in? Have you family there to see to you?"

All her life, Des had dreamed of escape, but she had never once thought of succeeding. What would she do once she reached Minas Tirith? Being born into slavery, her mother was the only family Desolyn ever knew and she was long dead. Who would take her in? Being dark-skinned, Des looked no less an easterling than those who hunted her. Would any Gondorian ever trust or accept her for who she was? And as she thought harder about it, Desolyn began to become even more troubled. What was freedom, anyway? She had never experienced it before. What did a free person do? Whatever opportunities a free person had, Des knew she was more limited than the average human. She was illiterate and had no skills in anything except for farming. And at this point, even farming seemed useless with no money to buy land.

Desolyn now began to wonder why she ever wanted to escape bondage. What was the point? To become a beggar on the streets? At least as a slave she was given food and shelter. Perhaps Des should give up altogether and let the hunters have her. She thought about how happy they would be to finally have a kill. The girl shuddered. No, she couldn't let that happen.

Desolyn glanced over at the group of slaves, then at Turos. He was listening carefully to what each slave had to say, nodding every once and a while. He did not voice much in opinion; he hardly ever did. Sadness welled up inside Desolyn as she thought of this man. Before the accident, Turos always seemed so cheerful and even enthusiastic about his work. He was a strong man and was favored by the easterlings. But now the easterlings found him useless, and as it seemed, so did he. Attempting to push her own troubles aside, Des thought of the troubles of Turos. I suppose I could be worse off, she thought to herself. But even so, Desolyn could not help but think of what would become of herself.

[ May 28, 2003: Message edited by: Brinniel ]