Life of a Slave

****(POV)

That is how I met the man I would come to call my brother.

He was never the smartest one.

He was never the bravest one either.

His only redeeming qualities were his cheerful personality and his ability to read people.

Getting captured and sold as a slave did dampen his spirit a lot.

When we first met he seemed more dead than alive.

Just a shadow of his former self that would mechanically accomplish things.

He would fight.

He would eat.

He would sleep.

Rinse and repeat.

That was all that his existence amounted to.

He had no dreams or hopes for the future.

He had given up a while ago already.

But then he saw me.

He would describe the moment in great detail afterward.

He used to have that old habit to try and gauge people.

To try and figure out their thoughts.

To try and figure out their personality.

All from seeing the way they talked and moved.

He would get their current mental state easily from experience.