The Slave Mansion

The wagons rolled onward for several days, relying on the magic of the accompanying guards to sustain the cattle and slavers. The constant jostles and bumps were taxing, slowly wearing away at my muscles and joints. Each time I went to rest my head, the wagon pitched into a deep rut, jolting me against the grainy wood planks. 

The days were cold, and the nights colder, but the slavers pressed on without thought for the cargo. The constant shivering was exhausting, and I often awoke to find tears streaming down my cheeks, weeping from the frozen ache of my fingers, toes, and tail. During the day, my thoughts were slow and lethargic, wandering through perpetual mires of sorrow and hopelessness. They didn't give us nearly enough food to sustain ourselves, and vicious hunger cramps soon became a constant companion.