He really had nothing to do... The Rokian started thinking and squeezing his eyes as to try to focus on the impalpable, invisible reality he wanted to see: he was alive, he was thinking and he wasn't before. His thoughts were still quite rudimentary, given that he didn't really know words of any sort, but he understood whatever had happened to him, had to be related to him eating the black and white sphere.

Suddenly feeling a colder gust of wind coming from the river side, he remembered that night wasn't too far away and thus he would have been better off thinking about finding some kind of shelter. He didn't feel alright with the idea of sleeping around at random.

He knew he used to, but the more he thought about it, the less wise it seemed to him, especially remembering of many of his kind were always taken by night birds and bear-like monsters.

He wondered: was staying in this forest the right choice at all then?

He recalled some nice “things”, whose people entered into when night came... And he was “people”, wasn't he?

So many questions, or better, puzzling images, chased each other in his head he soon found himself feeling dizzy. He was also growing bored by the never ending liquid sounds of the water, making it harder for him to think... it was a novelty to him and really demanding of his intellect.

The Rokian started moving out of the thick of the forest, making the undergrowth rustle with each step, thinking it amazing, and waving his tail, happy of the trail he was leaving behind.

The air felt so crisp and satisfying in his chest. Eventually he came across a dirt road:

“What is the purpose of this?”

He wondered. He went down to his knees and sniffed it down, patted it and caressed it... it looked like its only function was being a semi-flat portion of land.

He couldn't figure it out. Something caught his eye then right at the side of the road: a black flower that looked gorgeous, dazzling even, so alluring he felt his heart long achingly. The beautiful flower was encrusted with small droplets of water, no doubt taken here from the stream close by; it was being hit by the light, and sparkled like crystal.

It really was a thing of beauty and smelled incredibly delicious. That being said, looking at its plump petals, the thought of eating it was painful... it just felt... outrageous, an action only a lesser being could take. The flower was something so simply incredible, the Rokian wanted and maybe even needed, to look at: bathe in its majesty and entrancing simplicity.

The young Rokian sat down, his tail swinging slowly, crossed his legs, put his elbows on his knees and his head on top of his hands. This aching happiness gave him warmth, as a sated smile slowly sneaked on his face.

It was way later when a large wooden cart, dragged by a “mule” with no hairs, except for the mane on his head, a short horn on top of his mouth and a wide posterior, came close to where the Rokian was.

It was getting dark, which meant, the little one had stayed there for at least two hours.

On the cart were two men, which showed traces of what had once been human here and there: Havenrock was a human colony, after all. The two individuals didn't spot our Rokian friend until they were quite close, green as he was, covered in the dying day's frail light.

-Oi, Samson, check out that shorty over there. What do you think?

Asked the youngest and least dirty of the two.

-I say we just found some extra cargo, Pope.

Samson answered stopping the cart with a slow backward movement of the reins.

This man called Samson was an old trader: he had seen it all, done it all... he had taken a new partner a little more than a year ago, just a short while after shooting the previous one in the back over a money matter. It had been absolutely nothing major: Samson just wasn't the kind of man to be cut out of whatever he thought was his, no matter how small... and he, being a thug worth of such a name, baldly claimed as his a lot of stuff.

He was through and through a true human of Havenrock: a new planet, with lots of opportunities, a new fringe reality, for many aspects, with low morality and high greed.

That being said, a wild Rokian was hardly something people would miss or frown upon, if captured and sold. They were, after all, just mindless slaves.

-Pope, why don't you take this one?

-For real? I mean... sure thing Samson.

The young man said trying to look calm.

It was clear who was the one in control of their operation, but young Pope had joined old Sam for his own convenience too: he wanted to learn the trading job.

Fresh joiner of the commerce guild as he was, his rank was that of apprentice, but there wasn't a queue of mentors eager to help creating their future competition. Samson had scarce hygiene and was as rough as a Foban pig's rear, but Pope had learned a lot from him, so far.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

Still, it was rare for the old man to trust him doing anything major with their precious merchandise. This was Pope's first time wrangling a rokian. For what he got to understand of the process, some kind of magic had been used when creating the creatures so that as soon as a human imprinted on them with a simple touch and the intention to do so, they would “absorb” the person's DNA and become their servants. Furthermore, it was possible to change this sort of contract relationship, transferring it onto someone else in a similar easy manner.

Making as little noise as possible, the oddly clothed, skinny blond man crept up to the happy Rokian's back and softly pushed his right hand on the small creature's bare scaly shoulder. There he was! Pope was pink with excitement, but this moment was too perfect for having it ruined by his inexperience. Impressing Samson positively meant a lot for him; hopefully a better status in their partnership and maybe the chance to finally progress his magical training.

He needn't waste this chance: he breathed deeply, and concentrated, “ordering” the Rokian as his own. As he did so, a red sparkling dust-like power rushed from the young man's forearm, down, going fast toward the Rokian. It was being absorbed: he had done it!

Or... not? As in response to the enslaving spell's request for submission, the Rokian stopped wagging his tail, sat up a little straighter, then turned to look Pope in the eyes, annoyed. Looking at each other, unspoken questions on both of their faces, the awkwardness was growing with every passing second. The Rokian then shrugged the foreign hand off of his shoulder and turned back to his devices.

-What is taking so long, partner?

Asked with little patience Samson from the cart. With every angry movement, he let out dust as to underline his raggedy manliness.

-Man, it... it didn't stick.

Pope whispered, as to not startle the animal.

-What the hell are you talking about?

-The spell, dang it: it didn't go through!

-Like he is under contract already or sumthin' ? Uhu, try it again.

Samson hopped off the cart and moved in fast, close enough to see Pope trying his contract again.

This time, he forcefully applied even more wishfulness, more longing for the deal to go through and closed his eyes, really trying to grasp at the monster's essence. The strong red jet that came down his arm, although impressive, stood there this time, like thinking about it, like he, the Rokian, was considering it; in the end though, he turned around with a sad look, waving “no” with his head and hissing both men away, before turning back once again.

-Did this ugly runt just hiss at me?

Asked Samson, incredulous of what had just happened. Hesitantly, a little scared of what was going to happen next, Pope nodded.

-That is it, mister, under contract or not, you are mine, now.

Receiving absolutely no answer from the recipient of his calm retort, Samson stepped in front of him with heavy, angry stomps, that surely enough, squashed the marvelous black flower the Rokian had been so entranced with. The creature's first reaction was disbelief, he rushed for Samson's foot, trying to move it away, but the man didn't budge, making him even more desperate. The next moment, the tall and stinky man had grabbed the Rokian at his armpits, bringing him close.

-Here I come, monster. Get a good taste of me.

While Pope's essence before had been a nice, bright, pure red, Samson was a nasty, dirty yellow. The man really went for it: while it was painful, it still couldn't compare to having lost his nice friend flower. The grasp of Samson was hurting him, like an iron clad sinking deeper into the Rokian's skin as he went: he had got enough.

The Rokian savagely bit, scratched and kicked Samson, wherever he could in a matter of seconds. That had proved enough to get Samson down, ass to the ground, grasping at his bleeding neck. The little devil was nothing to laugh at. Once free, the Rokian reached for the plant he cherished so much, wanting to save it, digging, putting it up straight, eventually crying over it, but he didn't know what to think or what to do, really.

Pope, for all of that time, had remained still, petrified by the scene, making Samson mad to the point of yelling at him as wild as an injured rhino.

-Do something, you useless moron!

Was it really up to him? What could he do? He looked around and came up back with the only thing he could find: a rock. He took it and shakily cleaned it as to make it less slippery, reluctantly going for the Rokian's head with it. When he was right on top of the little one though, his resolve quailed just for a moment, enough for the Rokian to realize he was there again. The little one covered in tears, hissed, out of frustration, like he was begging “leave me be!”

It looked like the message got through to Pope: he dropped the rock and said

-I'm sorry. I'm done.