She grunted as she was tossed to the dirt floor, barely anything to cover herself, she scowled at the people who had just thrown her in. Being a war slave was shit. Used for battle and other peoples toys and then thrown back in a cell to wait for a use or food.

She scooted back to the corner, holding her arm. Tears pricked at her eyes, threatening to cascade down her face.

You turned away from her. Guards weren’t even supposed to face the prisoners, yet she knew your name, and you knew hers.