Dindi

Blindfolded, Dindi could still sense the ground beneath her bare feet. Stone. Dirt. Leaves. Sharp gravel that bit and hurt.

She could still hear the patter of steps of those in front and behind her, the shuffle of other captives. She recognized Tamio’s voice, cursing under his breath when they crossed the gravel.

She heard the snap of a whip-thin branch hit flesh. The growl of an adult man grunting, “Quiet!” and Tamio’s throaty whimper of submission.

She could smell the bodies of the others. She could smell flowers on the wind.

I have nothing to lose, she reminded herself. The fate of slaves was terrible. At best, they could expect a future of hunger, abuse and hard work. At worst, they would be used as a mariah, a human sacrifice. It was forbidden to make deals with the fae, especially blood offerings. But even ordinary tribesfolk might be tempted to use hexcraft and sacrifice if times were bad—drought, war, famine.