***
The metallic clang of pickaxes rang throughout the short tunnel. Each further swing pushed the limits of the slaves that inhabited the space. Sixon's arms ached with the exertion; he felt his muscles protest the movement. It felt as though he moved through oil rather than the musky air of sweat and dust. He was so close to his quota, just a little more and he would be there. He had missed it yesterday, and as a result, did not qualify for rations. His stomach ached, and he closed his eyes to persevere through the pain. He felt sick; his body was telling him to stop although he knew he couldn’t.
As he hit the wall again, something seemed to glint in the torchlight. A large chunk of copper stared back at him, embedded in the wall. His heart soared; this should be just enough to fill the quota and then some. But just as he was beginning to feel the warmth of relief blossom, a massive hand pushed him to the side.
A minotaur, his posture seemingly having a permanent hunch so as not to hit the roof of the cavern, moved to where he was standing before. Two stumps lay on his head, a reminder of the horns that used to protrude there. His mangy grey fur covered one of his eyes, his massive frame taking up almost two-thirds of the tunnel. Without a word, he began hacking away at the chunk of copper with his rusted pickaxe, his blows strong but slow.
“Wh-what, hey that’s my—” Sixon started, trying to arrest the larger Beastkin's arms. The minotaur turned a glare on him. His eyes were so… empty. They spoke of countless battles, pain beyond measure. The stare was a threat, a promise, a wall that separated Sixon from the violence that would surely occur if he stayed in the minotaur's way.
“Piss off, kid,” the minotaur spat.
He backed away; he did not doubt that the minotaur would act on the threat in his eyes if he didn’t. None of his fellow Beastkin bothered to turn around as the clang of their pickaxes continued. The guards at the entrance of the tunnel just looked on at them with boredom and disdain, like how someone would be annoyed by the smell of a wet dog. No fellow Beastkin and none of the guards had stood up for him… even before. He felt his black ears begin to quiver and his orange tail fell even further than it already had been. Foxkin such as Sixon were hard to read even to fellow Beastkin, but as his yellow eyes that reflected torchlight closed and his snout lowered to the ground, it was obvious to anyone that he was holding back tears. The loneliness he felt cut far deeper than the hunger. He felt someone brush past him, their movements so smooth and fast one could have thought it was the wind. But experiencing wind in this hellhole was like feeling it under the ocean. It didn’t happen.
“Hey, hey, hey, now, I don’t think that belongs to you,” someone said.
Sixon felt as if a bucket of water had been poured on him. Had one of the guards come to help him? As he looked up, his heart sank. A rabbit man, only a little taller than himself discounting the long fuzzy ears, was tapping the minotaur's shoulder. His frame was lean and skinny, with little muscle visible. His grey fur stood out, not for its colour but for its sheen and fullness. He was still dressed in the simple slave loincloth, but even those seemed to be more well-kept and cleaner than the rest.
The minotaur took a heavy, aggressive breath. As he turned, he let it out, accumulated dust flying from his nose.
“I thought I told you to piss—” The minotaur froze as he saw it wasn’t the Foxkin he was addressing.
The rabbit man cocked his head. “I’m sorry, I didn’t quite get that. Could you repeat it to my face?” said the rabbit man. He stared up at the minotaur from his shorter height, but Sixon’s instincts screamed that it was actually the minotaur looking up to the rabbit man.
“N-nothing Bryus, it was nothing.”
“Oh, well then I'm sure you wouldn’t mind giving that chunk of copper back to my friend here,” the rabbit man said, gesturing at Sixon.
“B-but I won't fill my quota.”
“Are you asking me to repeat myself?” The Rabbitman, Bryus, said.
Sixon observed the two; they stared at each other. He was astonished by the rabbit man’s ability to hold the minotaur's gaze. Looking into those stained eyes was no easy feat. He couldn’t watch anymore; he had to look away. He didn’t want to see the only person who stuck up for him die right in front of him. He couldn’t.
Sixon heard something drop to the ground. Probably the minotaur's pickaxe as he readied to beat the rabbit man. He tensed, expecting to hear a meaty fist meeting a frail body. But no such sound came. Then he felt a hand clasp his shoulder, and his head shot up, fear and adrenaline rushing through him like a wave. But as he opened his eyes, there stood the rabbit man, a large chunk of copper held out in his hands.
He looked past the rabbit in shock as he spotted the minotaur making his way further down the tunnel.
“W-what happened?”
“Oh, come now kid, brutes like him are all bark and no bite. I simply just asked for your rightful property to be returned. We are slaves, not criminals after all.”
“How did you do that?”
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“What?”
“Y-You know, get him to give it back.”
“I just asked.”
It was clear the rabbit man wasn’t going to elaborate and honestly, Sixon didn’t care. The thought of rations was too alluring to his stomach. He eyed the copper warily.
“Go on, kid, take it,” the rabbit man said, gesturing to the metal chunk in his hands.
“No strings attached, I promise,” he smiled, reading Sixon’s childish confusion easily.
Sixon took the offering, hoisting it over his shoulder and into the cheaply woven basket that hung from his back.
“I’m Bryus, by the way, but I’ll let you call me Sheep.”
“Umm, nice to meet you… Mister Sheep,” Sixon said to the strange rabbit man.
“It’s a strange nickname, I know. But hey, it’s not a nickname if you're the one to choose it,” Sheep laughed.
“So, what's yours?” Sheep asked.
“W-what’s my what?”
“Your name, silly?”
“O-oh, sorry, my name is Sixon.”
“Well, nice to meet you, Sixon.”
“Oi, what are you lot doing down there? Get back to work! If I gotta go down there, I'm bringing a slave master with me and it’ll be the whip for the lot of you!” the guard shouted from the entrance to the tunnel. The tunnel itself was merely an offset deep within the actual mine, and the slave masters were not people to be dragged around by lowly guards to solve small grievances, meaning his words were an empty threat, but that didn’t stop the rabbit man’s face from scrunching up in disgust at the mention of the slave masters.
The expression fell from his face as fast as it had formed, but Sixon still caught it. Yikes, he must have had a bad run-in with one of them. I guess it happens to all of us eventually.
Even Sixon, who was quiet and kept to himself, had been whipped just for being in the way of one of the slave masters.
“It’s okay, darling, I’m already here.” A yelp sounded from the guard as a haughty voice reverberated from beside him. The slaves in the tunnel stopped the swinging of their axes and looked up. A heavy-set man stood by the entrance. He was in a tight-fitting white robe which showed off his round and protruding stomach. His feet were donned in sandals, which were an odd choice for a mine. His entire presence spoke of wealth and a great deal of it. On the white robe, plastered over the area where his heart should have been, in this case it was a little higher up, as the cloak was far too small to fit the man properly, was the slaver logo: an interlocking chain dragon which spoke to the wearer’s membership—or ownership—to the slaver’s guild. Unconsciously, Sixon touched the back of his neck where that very same symbol had been branded long ago.
Sixon didn’t realise it until he glanced over to Sheep, but he was frozen solid. Not a single part of the rabbit man moved.
“Oh my… Bryus, I wasn’t aware you were here,” the fat slaver said, obviously lying.
“What an unexpected coincidence,” he continued, his hand over his mouth as he giggled.
The bald man actually giggled like a child. Out of the corner of his eye, Sixon saw Sheep’s fist ball tight. He hid it behind his back, but not once did he break eye contact with the slave master.
He entered the tunnel, lifting his robe, which was already far off the ground, while stepping over what looked to be a dead Wolfkin. Corpses weren’t all that uncommon and were usually removed before they could rot and spread disease. Usually.
“My, my, you are looking absolutely scrumptious today Bryus.”
Sheep put on the most forced smile Sixon had ever seen. It looked painful for him to wear.
“Master Loli, might I say your form is looking extra… voluptuous today or tonight, I’ve lost track.”
“Ha, being down in these disgusting tunnels with so many fleabags will do that to you, darling,” the slaver, Loli, said, putting his hand on Sheep’s shoulder.
Foxkin had a very good sense of smell, so good in fact that Sixon could smell as the rabbit man’s claws drew blood from his own palm upon Loli’s touch.
“My, my, I hope you have been looking after this delightful coat of yours in my absence. You know I don’t like it when my toys are filthy,” he punctuated his words by running his hand down Sheep’s arm until it sat on his waist.
Straining himself to not shove the slaver away, Sheep spoke. “Of course, my master. Do you wish me in your chambers this moment?” he said, all while keeping his expression naïve and pleasant.
Loli’s expression grew foul. He seemed to grow more uptight, and his expression went from indulgent to annoyed. He took in a breath and then let it out, finally allowing Sheep to get away from him. He turned from them and started talking, his tone raising a pitch as he made his displeasure known.
“Unfortunately, not. We have a visitor. That old ugly dwarf with the high mage’s seal has been strutting around like he owns the place. He’s requested some filth be moved to the ruins in the east of the mine. Something about opening those big doors.”
“I see, that is truly unfortunate, my master. I hope this dwarf's presence does not stain your pleasant mood. It’s surely unpleasant for you to endure the presence of such a person.”
The slave master paused at Sheep's words. Slowly, he turned his expression vacant and unreadable, walking back to Sheep. He grabbed him by the neck, cupping his face, bringing it closer to his.
“I like my ego caressed, not strangled. Make no mistake, I dislike the dwarf, but he stands far above a slave like you. I will make that apparent when I see you in my chambers tonight, darling,” he hissed, his face contorting with an ugly smile.
Sheep struggled to nod his head, fear plastered on his rabbit-like features.
Releasing him, Loli’s demeanour shifted back to that of a giggly child.
“Alrighty, I do hope all of you got that,” he said, addressing the onlooking slaves. Sixon spotted the minotaur at the end of the tunnel. He was staring at Sheep, who stood beside him, rubbing his throat. Sixon wasn’t sure, but he thought he saw the corners of his mouth curled up in a pleased half-smile.
“Everyone ‘follow’ me,” Loli ordered. Sixon felt the command in the slave master’s words. He felt the compulsion to follow the order. Resistance only meant pain and death, as was stipulated in his slave contract.
Turning, he began for the tunnel's exit. When he was far enough ahead, Sixon turned to Sheep. He was about to ask if the smaller Beastkin was alright, but was shocked to see a smile, a genuine one this time, spread across his face. His eyes were wild with anticipation, for what Sixon didn’t know. Something in him screamed that something was wrong. But his concern for the Beastkin who defended him trumped that quiet voice.
“Ar-are you alright?”
Sheep turned to him. “I’ve never been happier in my life.”
“O-oh.”
“Hey, a word of advice kid: when the doors open, make sure you’re on the other side.”
“W-what?”
But with that, he left, melting into the crowd of Beastkin as they followed behind Loli. Sixon felt even more uncomfortable now than he did when Loli was before him.