Arthael sat on his hard cot and peered out into the darkness. He could hear some kids whispering in the distance and one kid snoring. There were so many kids in the building he couldn't even begin to count them all, and the building was so large he didn't understand how it didn't fall over.

Cot after cot after cot, and he suspected they were all full of kids just like him. He wondered how many mothers were missing their sons. But then he remembered the big pouch of coins the man had left on his own family's table. Maybe it was a fair trade, and they wouldn't be missed at all.

He knew he had made a mistake trusting the man. Somehow, the man had tricked him and taken him to this place, and now he couldn't leave. He saw one kid get up a few hours ago, heard the crack of a whip against flesh—a yelp of pain, and the kid had come back to his cot crying. They were being watched and guarded, under threat of punishment—and there was no way out. He just didn't know why.

When they left his house, the man had brought him to a carriage filled with other boys, and they had ridden it for nearly an hour. Arthael had never left the city before, but he supposed that is what they had done. Then they had gotten out, and he had no idea where they were. The city buildings he had grown used to were nowhere to be seen, and he could only see a collection of huge white stone buildings in a neat formation. The forest had been cut away, and the buildings sat in a vast clearing.

In a way, it felt like they had arrived at a new city. There had been men moving about, blacksmiths hitting hammers, and plenty of horses. The smell of cooking meat in the air reminded him how long it had been since he last ate. But he remembered the city and the chaos that seemed to be a part of everything. Here, things were different. There was no catcalling, yelling, fights, or anything out of order. It was as if they were alone with the trees.

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At first, he hadn’t noticed, because it was difficult to tell because every man and child was clothed in brown robes. But the oddest thing was that there were no women.

He had never felt desire for a woman, and he knew one day that he would--from what his father had told him, but the lack of women made him remember his mother. He felt a fierce longing for her.

He turned to the kid on the cot next to him. It was dark in the vast room, but his eyes had long adjusted, and he could make out that he was sitting up in his cot like he was.

“What’s your name?” Arthael whispered.

The boy shifted and turned towards Arthael. He did not say anything for a moment, and he thought he might not reply.

“Benny.”

“Did they take you too?” Arthael whispered, even quieter than Benny had.

The boy shrugged in the dark and didn’t say anything.

Arthael frowned. “What happened to you?”

For a long moment now, the boy said nothing. Then he lay down and turned on his side facing him.

“The man came into the house, and I was telling him about the ring. I told him it was warm, but my father came home.” The boy paused, and his voice got shaky. “They talked, but then the man made my father angry.”

The boy paused for a moment as if he was going to say more but then he shook his head and turned over. “And now I’m here.”

Arthael frowned. He wanted to talk to the boy to make friends, but he also knew he just wanted to talk. He didn’t want to listen to the voice in his head that told him he was never going to see his parents again. Through no fault of his own, the boy had made him feel worse—because he realized that he was lucky. His terrible situation, somehow, had been better than it could have been. He lay back on his hard straw cot, and the thought made him shiver underneath his thin sheet.