A frighteningly thin child, around the age of ten years, halfheartedly hacked at a rock with his shovel. All around him were more slaves, ranging from hulking men to young children like himself. All shared the same expression, utter hopelessness, and unending terror. Above the rocky hill, they were digging in stood several dark cloaks. Fear was radiating from them. If you went to close to them, or if they came near you, you would suddenly be gripped with a sense of dread. Merely looking at them caused him to shiver. He stabbed his shovel into the ground, barely denting it. The ground was so rocky it was ridiculous to try to dig in it with a shovel, but their masters didn't care. The Darklings they were called, the essence of darkness. The child had seen them do things too terrible to be talked about. Suddenly, there was a small commotion. The child risked a hasty glance behind him, he saw it so quickly he couldn't be sure, but it seemed like a group of women had walked into the minefield, and a Darkling was whipping them. There was a shout. One of the Darklings on the hill strode off, there was another crack of a whip and a shriek rang out, but it wasn't human. The child risked another glance behind him and saw the second Darkling holding a whip, and the first clutching his arm. The second let forth a stream of words in their own language and then stepped back, allowing the woman to pass. The child resumed his work. Footsteps came from behind him, and he felt a presence next to him. He glanced up. His mother, wearing a ragged, faded white dress, was next to him. Her face had a scar from an old whip wound across the cheek. Her expression was hollow, many times she had given up her food to let another have enough strength to live, though her child, Drenwulf had pleaded for her not too. She was sick, yellowish spots were spread all over her skin. She had probably been pretty at one time, but Drenwulf couldn't remember it. He only knew that his father was dead, and his mother was starving to death. She looked with pity at Drenwulf and gave him a canteen. He drunk the mirky water gratefully.
"Thank you," he whispered. She stroked his hair.
"Remember, this isn't where you belong," she whispered back. A whip cracked.
"Get back to work you filthy swine!" a Darkling screeched, cracking the whip over the two slave's heads. Drenwulf's mother quickly got up and gave water to another slave, and Drenwulf continued to hack at the rocks.
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