When I next awoke the light was shining through the perpetual overcast.

Were were still rocking along the road, though the wagons were traveling slower now than the previous night. The pace seemed to frustrate the caravan, judging by the irritable shouts from the drivers and cracks of their whips against their draft animals.

Not long after I opened my eyes, the meohr had begun to flag. An hour after that, a meohr collapsed, forcing the entire caravan to pause. It gave a pained and bovine groan, thrashing against the harness. It was foaming from the mouth by the time a driver reached it.

“Exhaustion,” the driver said, as the other caravaneers gathered around. Calls began rekindling for setting up camp and recovering. The Caravan Master, Manny Stillson, took time to listen to the calls, nodding with an empathetic expression.

“I hear ya, I hear ya!” Manny said, quieting down the drivers with his hands. “We cannot continue, I agree. The pace is reckless.”

It was then that Lieutenant Muleater reached the discussion, stomping towards them.

“Why’re we stopping!” she barked. “We’ll be losing more than that if the godslovin jungleborn catch up with us.”

“Wyrkwik, Lieutenant,” the Alchemist said, joining the discussion with a condescending expression. “Please. Jungleborn is far too vague.”

She scoffed, “Point stands. We need to keep pushing.”

While the drivers quieted down, they looked at Manny Stillson with expectation, and he nearly buckled under Muleater’s glare, but he managed to hold firm. “It’s simply impossible to keep pushing,” he said. Before Muleater could cut him off, he hurried onward, “Unless you want us to end up stranded without a single meohr to our name!”

She scoffed, “You’re overblowing it.”

“No, it’s your–our–fears which are overblown.”

Muleater spat, in a vulgar tone. “If you shit in one hand and hope in another–”

“-crude, lieutenant," Manny said, shying away. Though the drivers seemed amused.

“Yeah?” Muleater asked. “Well we’ll see if you’re changing your tune if the wyrkwik hit.”

“Please, Lieutenant,” Charson said. “I find that incredibly unlikely.”

In the end, the knights lost the argument. They might have threatened to continue on, but it would be pointless for them to abandon their charges, unless their fates were in mortal danger. And even then, I assumed it was their duty, or some such. As it was, so long as I avoided blame for the marathon the previous night, then I was satisfied, at least for the moment.

And stopping to rest was not without benefits. It meant that the Kaivan and myself were finally allowed to stretch our legs. Though I was a bit disappointed when someone other than Kate arrived to take us for our ‘walks.’

So very dehumanizing.

“Let’s get this over with,” one of the knights said. I noticed a book was sticking up from out of his belt. I thought his name was Joel Warson.

“Just grab one,” the other said. It was the same one that Sir Kate had gone to spar with in the morning. A Ken Guardson, I thought, who was also Kate’s uncle.

Kissen shoved Larissen towards the door to go first, and the guard with the leash motioned for the feline to crouch down. After the leash was hooked to the collar, and the artificed key pulled away and handed to the other guard. The gate was opened, and the feline was let out. As soon as he was out, the gate was shut once more.

If I could have used my Illusion, I might have made a run for it then and there. But then any future chances of escape would be spoiled, and I believed that future opportunities would be better.

Besides, I still felt weak.

And… well, there was far too much humiliation present for me to think rationally. Plans forged with emotion always fail.

“About time,” Larissen muttered as he left.

When he came back, Kissen wanted me to go next. However, I resisted that idea. Unlike me, they actually had basic biological needs to relieve.

So instead, next after that went Issen, who required some help in getting down. Help which Ken scorned to give. Issen ended up stumbling when he reached the ground, nearly falling, and instead getting caught by his leash.

“Kunny,” Ken swore, giving the leash a tug.

Issen coughed, but kept his eyes turned downward.

Kissen went after that, and then finally, it was my turn.

They motioned me forward, and I winced, but obliged all the same, duck walking to the exit. They fumbled the hook around my collar, pinching my skin. But soon, I was attached to two separate leashes, which seemed a bit much, and they dragged me out from the cage so that I could ‘stretch’ and ‘do my business.’

They let me set the pace, as though I was some pet on a leash. Disgusting. It left my blood boiling. But at the same time, I could not hope to escape. Or could I?

“Illusion.”

I mouthed the word. Nothing happened. Whatever ‘Seal’ that my collar applied was still in effect. My priority in escaping needed to be removing the collar, first and foremost. Which meant I needed to find the key for it.

But I had a plan for this.

I stopped mid step on the way towards the cairn where the Kaiva had been taken to do their business.

“Is it possible for me to stretch my legs?” I asked politely and demurely.

“Hm?” Asked one of the guards, Joel Warson, the one with the book hooked into his belt. “Aren’t you already?”

Ken Guardson scoffed and shook his head. “Stop treatin’ them like people, Warson.”

The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

“It seems an easy enough request, and it isn’t our property.”

“-Ugh, no.” Ken snapped.

“And why not?!” Warson asked, glaring at Ken.

Ken sneered, though it must have been difficult for Joel to see in the low light conditions. I wondered if the guards had some Marks to empower them and their perception? They must, if they were regularly up against enhanced enemies. That would be something to watch out for as I planned my escape..

“-Just because the beast talks doesn’t mean we should listen to it!” Ken snapped.

I bit back the acerbic retort that I would have leveled at him; doing so would be counterproductive.

“Unlike some people, she is well-spoken,” Joel said. “But that is not why I think we should.”

He made a non-subtle glance to my arms and Ken rolled his eyes.

While they argued back and forth, I continued stretching as much as I could with two leashes, and observed my surroundings.

I bent low to touch my toes, and glanced under the caged wagon, where I had seen the guards pull leashes. I tried to spot anything that looked like a key for the collar, but I had been pretty out of it when the collar had gone on, and I had yet to see a collar come off, so I was unsure of exactly what the artificed key looked like. But that was besides the point; I was scouting out my situation, my surroundings, and gathering the details I would need to make a plan.

Finally, the two guards wrapped up their argument.

“I still say it’s a waste,” Ken argued. “But clearly I won’t convince you. Just let’s get this done.”

“Let’s.”

Joel waved me forward, making it clear I had permission to walk, so long as it was within reason. I tried smiling as sweetly as I could, but the effect was lost with the muzzle, and Joel winced. “Right.”

I shrugged and took off walking around the perimeter, leading them, like a dog on a leash sniffing new scents at a park. Self disgust and dysmorphia struck once more, but I shoved them down, repressing brutally. If I were to win my freedom, I would need to learn every detail.

As I searched for details, I started going just a little too fast, and Ken yanked the leash towards him, causing the collar to dig into the side of my throat and also leave me stumbling, almost falling to the ground.

“Really?” Joel asked, unimpressed.

Ken shrugged, “It was going to far.”

Again, I buried my anger.

I had suffered much in the past, and I would suffer much more in the future. What mattered was my immediate plans. We made it a quarter of the way around the circled wagons when I found the second thing I was looking for; the wagon I suspected they had stored my ‘confiscated property.’ I particularly noted that they failed to consider the property ‘mine’ as pets could not own property.

The thought left me clenching my jaws.

As we passed around the wagon, I saw a stack of crates and a chest locked between the crates and the front wall of the wagon. It had the same yellow-gray color as the guards’ uniforms. That was likely it.

Of course, I could not stop and stare. I continued my walk. But on the next wagon, something did draw my attention.

But… I had a difficult time understanding why or how. It almost felt like distress. But nobody was in distress, at least not that I could see, and it did not feel like a person in distress, but… understanding this phenomenon began giving me a headache.

Without realizing it, I paused.

“Done?” Joel asked.

“Sorry, not yet,” I said, forgetting my act as I took a few steps towards the wagon. The feeling of distress was definitely coming from the wagon, along with an almost-acerbic scent, and something else. It grew stronger with each step I took. The leashes began to go taut.

And then I was intercepted by the man wearing a half-mask and hood.

“What are you doing?” asked the Apprentice Alchemist, Charson.

Joel glanced towards Ken, but Ken merely answered both of them with a glare.

“We were just finishing,” Ken said.

“Finishing what?” Charson asked. “Why are you here with… this?” he waved a hand at me. Despite his partially pleasant tone, the edge of wariness and fear leaked into his voice. And he also felt ‘distressed,’ but it was a different flavor from that which came from the wagon. I also noticed that he kept one hand on his bandolier of glowing vials. If those were weaponized flasks, then it left me wondering why? Why was he acting this way? At least a dozen people had been around this wagon throughout the course of the day, including the other merchants storing their wares alongside his. Why now?

“We allow the beast-kin to stretch their legs once a day on trips that span over a week,” Joel explained.

“That may be within your purview,” Charson admitted, “But I have yet to see any of the other animals brought this way. I also notice that this creature behaves differently from the rest. Are we certain the creature is safe? Or has the creature manipulated the situation to benefit an unknown entity? It is curious. And curiosities are dangerous, no?”

“Are you implying we cannot keep you or your wares safe?” Ken bit out, almost growling.

“Hardly!” Charson protested. “Not at all.”

“It sounds like you are.”

“Merely cautious…”

“It’s fine,” Joel said, nudging Ken. “I’m sure that Alchemist Charson meant nothing by it–”

“-Apprentice Alchemist–” Ken corrected, scowling.

“-and we should be returning now anyways,” Joel continued. He made a half bow to Charson, “If you have any further concerns, the lieutenant will be sure to listen.”

Ken scoffed.

Charson grimaced at the mention of the lieutenant. I realized belatedly that Joel and Ken were naturally falling into a familiar routine meant to either interrogate prisoners or avoid unpleasantness in general. It was ingenious, and while earlier I had thought Ken to be naturally mean-spirited and short tempered, I now revised my opinion. Either it was an act, or Joel turned Ken’s sour disposition into something useful.

Joel began pulling me backwards, far more gently than Ken would have, and I gave up examining the wagon’s wares. Though my eyes naturally landed on one crate in particular that I thought might have vibrated, just ever so slightly, and rattled. I had one last glance of that, and Charson’s frown before I turned and left, following both guards as they led me by the leashes back to the prisoner wagon.

The encroaching migraine I felt, and the leashes, caused me to miss several steps. I stumbled into Ken. He snarled and shoved me back, and Joel reached out to steady me.

“Easy there,” Joel said.

While we were approaching, I overheard a hushed conversation between Larissen and Kissen in the cage. I would have rather heard nothing, with the pounding cramping headache, but heard it nonetheless I did.

“-cannot replace your kit!” Larissen scolded in a hissed whisper.

“This One knows!” Kissen responded in a louder hiss. “The idea insults her memory. This One is insulted!”

“Could have fooled my senses,” Larissen said. “The young one will lead to trouble. Her marks–the Furless will not–cannot–” he yowled and hissed in pain. We were close enough now that we could see them. He was clutching his face.

Kissen spat.

“Quiet down,” Joel said, wrapping the metal handle of the leash against the cage. “People are resting.”

Ken scoffed. “Some of us actually worked today.”

Kissen did not rise to the challenge. But Joel did.

“I feel that they would gladly work, if it meant leaving their cage.”

Larissen put a clawed hand on Kissen’s shoulder, squeezing it just enough to draw her ire. Her green eyes had almost been glowing balefully at Ken.

Ken unlocked the prison door, Joel ‘helped’ me climb in, the door was closed and locked, and the leashes were removed. Each additional sound caused my headache to worsen. Green blackness scintillated around the edges of my vision, and I smelled ‘colors’ while feeling ‘taste.’ It was reminiscent of when I had learned new languages in the past, but my magic was blocked away by the collar, or Sealed. At least, that had been my assumption.

My Marks felt normal, without the burning sensation I had associated with growth in the past.

This was unusual. Just when I thought I had things figured out, the rules changed.

I hated it.

Kissen sensed my distress and helped me curl up on a cleaner spot of the floor, while she rubbed my back, her claws tracing patterns down my skin, through the fur. If not for that distraction, I likely would have found no rest that night.