He leaned into the rough scrubbing he was giving the floor of the closet he called home.  His elder had been greatly disappointed in him and made sure to emblazon that disappointment across any exposed skin.  The man he had caught passed out upon return and died at some point during the day.  He had taken the blame for it without issue as he knew that any resistance on his part would only result in him being beaten harder.  

The result left him here, skipping breakfast to scrub the grit, filth, blood, and bile from the floor.  By the time he had finished, he looked like he had absorbed everything from the floor to himself.  Scuffs of unmentionable origins lay marred across his bruising face and body.

"Arius!"

The bark came from his elder, Thik, who was in the main part of the shack.  There was never any love or compassion in anything that slipped from him.  It was always only commands and the occasional beating for mishaps; irregardless of who was at fault.  'Orders were to be obeyed'.  It had been the first lesson that he received on the night that he was finally accepted into this shithole of a shack.

Standing quickly, he made his way to the owner of the voice and found his elder, already half through their daily allotment of handpots.  Belor, dressed in his clean and carefully layered clothes looked a stark contrast to the state of everything around them.  Even in the candlelight he seemed to radiate presence despite his youth.

"I have a meeting.  Get out."  

The gruff and dismissive words grated against his ears and he didn't even bother nodding as he left the shack to wait outside.  Despite his hunger it was a welcomed experience.  The cool night breeze caressed his skin and cooled him after all the work he had done to clean the little room he called his own.  Running his hands over his arms, he figured a stop by the well was in order as he felt a heavy itch beginning to set into his skin.  Though there was a ready water barrel near the human pen he knew better than to touch it.  

The early night was already crawling with people wandering the little marketplace looking at wares.  Leaning against the well edge, he wondered if the people even truly saw him here.  How many times had he washed his wounds while they walked by.  It cut him in a way that he didn't yet have words for.

Drawing up the bucket, he went to work cleaning and scrubbing the filth from himself as best he could.  Stripping off his shirt, he went to work trying to clean that as well.  Most of the filth came out without issue but there was a dinginess to it that remained.  Countless times had he been at this well 'cleaning up'.  Those times had clearly all added up to a shirt that was more grey than white.

It was at this time, while he was trying his best to whip and wring the water out of his shirt, that he met eyes with Sasha once more.  Her brown red dress stood out against the paler, simpler, colors of the rest of the people at the market.  Her mother stood near her looking through an offered selection of overdresses.  He couldn't imagine why though given that the one she wore seemed perfectly fine.  That was, until the wind shifted.  

She reeked of blood.

It wasn't a light padding of it either.  It was as though she were a walking, unending, pool of blood.

Worse yet, it was rotting.

The stench of it made him cough and he broke their eye contact to catch his breath and cover his face with his damp shirt.  It didn't matter what it was covered in now, whatever it was was better than what she smelled like.  Why was her mother just traipsing her about like that?

When he dared to look her way again, he could plainly see her shame and embarrassment.  Her mother expertly chose two simple overdresses and then Sasha was ushered off towards the inn with her mother.  Others around them were quick to stop and whisper to one another as they passed.  No doubt the stench had robbed them of all sense of decency.  Not that he could blame them, the girl stank terribly.

"She's going to join you soon."  Belor's words were kind yet firm.  “Father knows the human didn’t survive.”

He looked to the older boy as he was overcome with disbelief.  But Belor showed no hint of lying.  Even though he wasn’t making eye contact, his eyes seemingly affixed on the inn, his relaxed pose made him appear easy to talk to.  

“Father doesn’t want others to be punished for her actions.  I will let him know what I saw here today.”  And with that, Belor stepped away towards the inn.  

He watched him go as the words slowly sank into his heart.  They had seen him.  Belor knew the plight he suffered and now would report it to his father.  Perhaps there would be a break from the beatings and maltreatment.  He knew that it would probably be too much to even hope for but he wished for it all the same.

Now, he was fully aware that his elder would probably adhere to the new rules, if they arrived.  Though it would only be for a time.  But that break…. It was enough to put a smile on his face and a skip in his step.  There were so many things to look forward to now.

~~~~

Two days after the filth and the well, he opened the door shortly after breakfast to find Belor and Sasha standing there.  She was dressed in a simple dress with an outer apron that appeared tied at the shoulders.  No doubt it was intended to keep whatever clothes she wore beneath it clean.  Without a word, she walked into the shack and Belor left with a nod and nothing more.  His elder was still snoring in the only true bed they owned against the far wall.  Despite the dilapidated appearance of the place, he noticed the awe and wonder in her eyes.  

“Come on.  We have to feed the stock.  Grab that bucket there beside the door.”

He motioned to it as he went to grab a little leather satchel and put it on.  Once they had everything, they headed to the well.

“Tomorrow you do this without being told.”  

He tried to be firm like his elder.  His harshness had worked for him and he had nothing better to follow.  When they got there, he made no motion to assist, choosing instead to command her.

“Fill the bucket with water.”

He had anticipated her to be against it but was surprised when she drew the water up without issue.  Granted, her little body took longer than his but she got the water up all the same.  Her pouring skills also left much to be desired as they ended up wearing a bit of the water she drew.  But, once the bucket was full, he turned towards the stock pens.  

“Pick up the bucket and follow.”

He watched her strain a bit to lift it.  But no matter how she tried, she couldn’t manage to get the bucket more than a few inches off the ground.  Heaving a sigh, he waved her off and picked up the bucket with one hand.  

“I’ll help you in until you can do this part yourself.”  He was trying to be cool and level headed but his words slipped from him through clenched teeth and straining breath.  

With careful steps, he led her to the large stock pen.  It was a large oval with rectangular buildings attached at either end of the more narrow sections.  At the larger of the two end buildings was a large, solid wood, door.  A sliding bolt lock had been fashioned and led into a solid tree trunk for stability.  Opening it, he led her into the room and set the bucket down next to a large earthen stove with a large concave metal pot inset into the stove itself.  Heaving the water into the pot, he motioned to the crate on the other side of the room.

“Bring me four potatoes and four carrots and one onion.”  As he spoke, he knelt and dug through his satchel for the flint steel to light the fire.

The dull repeated thudding of rootstock on wood told him she had accomplished the task as she dumped her quarry into the empty water bucket.  

“Do you know how to start a fire?”

It didn’t surprise him when she shook her head.  The girl had lived in the lap of luxury her whole life, of course she didn’t know how to start a fire.  

“I’ll show you.”

And he did.  He went over the types of wood, their uses, the importance of size, air flow, and smoke management.  All of it.  In that morning, he wanted to make sure she understood exactly how to do it.  

“You will make the fire next time then.”

Still she said nothing as she just appeared eager to assist and learn.  Sighing, he took a knife from the satchel and began carefully cutting up the vegetables and tossing them into the water.  

“We make this for them in the morning.  For each human they get half a potato and half a carrot.  So how many humans are in there?”

There was a long bout of silence between them as he quietly knelt to tend to the fire.  Out of the corner of his eye, he could see her trying to work it out on her fingers.  It was an admirable feat in its own right.  

"There are four potatoes.  Two people eat one.  So...  so like you and me...  we get one?"

He nodded, unwilling to give her any hints on this.  This would be a task she would have to get used to completing on her own.  

"So...  we get one.  Then...  There are four of us.  So...  eight?"

He nodded again and fought not to smile when she was beaming from ear to ear at figuring out the answer.  That was until worry crept in and stole her elation.

"Only eight?"  Shock and worry laced her words.

"There used to be nine until a few days ago."

He watched as his words cut deeper than he had intended but he refused to take them back.  What he had said had been the truth and he still had fading bruises from some of the lessons he received from it.  

Hanging her head in shame, she spoke softly to him.  "I'm sorry.  I...  Father and brother told me you got punished for what I did.  I...  I'm sorry."

Some part of him wanted to believe her but he couldn't bring himself to accept it.  Yes, he wanted the recognition of what had happened, was happening, in his shack home.  But at the same time, he didn't want the apology of some tiny girl with an anger management problem.  His life was hard and her apologizing for it all seemed more like pity than an apology.

"Just forget it."  His words were short but he didn't care.  "Get me the bowls over there on the shelf near the crate."

He didn't wait for her to reply as he stood to assess the soup.  It needed more time but at least his mind had something to focus on other than her pity.

"Does that other door go into the pen?”  

He looked to her and saw her casually motioning towards the other solid latched door to their left that had a sturdy beam across it.  

“Yes.  And we feed them through the hole to the right of it.”

Grabbing a ladle and stirring it a bit, he tended to the pot.  The vegetable soup was almost done.  Her little frame appeared beside him watching him stir the meal.  

“Do they always get this?”

He nodded.  “Most days it is this for breakfast.  If we have the stuff then we change it up for the other meals.  But don’t go changing things unless you’re told to.  Our elder is the one who gets the stuff and he’s the one that sets the meals.”

Even from the edge of his view of her, he could see her mulling over that instruction.  Finally, the girl he saw on the walk to Vidar was finally beginning to emerge; all questions and demanding answers.

“But wouldn’t they do better with more food?  Father says food helps us.”

He sighed at that childish way of thinking.  “You can’t feed them too much, they will have too much energy.  You can’t underfeed them because they will get sick and die.  The trick is to give them enough to keep them alive but too weak to have the will to run.”

It was his elders rhetoric but he didn’t have anything else to go on.  Truth be told, rhetoric or not, it had worked.  The man that had gotten free a few days before was a new capture.