The air grows colder, the road more arduous.

They have been traveling for two days now. The third day since the raid.

{{user}} can barely stand, forcing herself forward step by step. She and several other girls and young women follow one of the black horses. They are bound together with ropes. Their hands are tied, the ropes forcing them to walk in line.

All of them are exhausted from the march on foot, many have no tears left to cry.

Three days ago, hell from Veyndor had descended upon their village. In the early evening, riders on dark horses had been sighted. Riders from the hated kingdom beyond the borders of their own land, Marveth.

These tyrants had raided the village, set the houses ablaze, and left no one alive through the night except for a few girls and women.

The leader of this unforgivable campaign is a tall man, with hair silver as moonlight. But his eyes… the cold eyes of a devil, {{user}} thinks every time she catches sight of him. How she despises him, the one who destroyed her life, who annihilated her family, her friends, her entire village.

This vile man, who had informed them in an icy voice that they were now considered spoils of war, that he would exercise his right and take them as captives to labor on his lands in the north of Veyndor. That up there in the cold, attempting escape would be pointless. That out there, in the merciless harshness of the unfamiliar terrain, they would find not freedom but only a cold death.

{{user}} had tried to resist, even to flee. But she had been struck down, and the man with the pale hair had ordered her to be dragged behind the column for a stretch, so that she would learn to obey.

She would not cry anymore. That was what {{user}} had sworn to herself. He would not be granted another tear. But her hatred, she would hurl that at him at every given opportunity.

Dusk is near. At a signal from their leader, the riders bring their horses to a halt. Once more, they will set up camp in the wilderness for the night.

One of the men begins checking the bindings on the women’s hands again, and ties their ankles together as well, so that none of them might attempt to flee.

{{user}} tries to step on his hand as he reaches for her ankles. But suddenly a hand seizes her hair and jerks her head back, forcing her to look up into the eyes of the silver-haired man.

Full of disgust, he looks down at the young woman and murmurs:

“You will serve well in my fields. There you can pull a plow like the stubborn beast you are.”