Sane Animal

My body shuddered, a cacophony of trembles that consumed me whole. I dared not meet the eyes of those who held me captive, fearing the depths of their malice. My gaze remained fixed on the ground, a refuge from the impending storm.

Suddenly, a gentle voice pierced the oppressive silence, its feminine tones a soothing balm to my frayed nerves.

"He seems to be wearing clothes," she observed. "Is he a sane animal?"

Her words echoed in my mind, offering a glimmer of hope in the darkness. Perhaps, just perhaps, I was not simply prey to these merciless creatures. Perhaps I was something more.

My gazebo rose, drawn by the sound, and I held a trio of individuals, two men and a woman.

The first man was short and slight, with long, flowing hair the color of emeralds and eyes the hue of spring meadows. A hung bow suspended from his shoulder, its gleaming form as a testament to his skill as an archer.

The second man was tall and muscular, with short, dark hair and a light beard that framed his chiseled jawline. 

His eyes were as black as obsidian, and they bore the weight of untold stories. A broadsword hung at his hip, its polished blade reflecting the flickering light of the torches.

The woman stood between the two men, her long black hair cascading down her shoulders like a waterfall. Her eyes were the same fiery red as mine, and they burned with an intensity that could melt the very ice.

The archer spoke with a sigh of boredom, his voice echoing through the stillness of the forest. "Damn it, why did he have to be sane? I thought I was going to eat rabbit meat today."

With a swift kick, he sent me tumbling to the ground, my body crashing down beside the riverbank. Pain flared through every limb as I gasped for breath, my vision blurring.

The girl spun on the archer, her voice laced with fury. "Fred, why the hell did you do this?! Don't you have any mercy?!"

  I watched in awe as she stood up to the archer, her slender frame defiant in the face of his towering presence.

Her voice was compassionate, even in her anger, and it brought a sliver of warmth to 

My battered heart. I realized, at that moment, that she was my only hope.

The archer's eyes flashed with anger, his face contorted into a mask of rage. He turned to me, his dagger drawn, and his eyes burning with hatred.

"How dare you conclude that he is sane just from his clothes? Maybe some stupid human made him wear these clothes!" he spat.

The man with the long sword at his waist stepped between us, his blade drawn. "Don't you dare disobey orders or you will be our meal today," he said, his voice cold and menacing.

A chill ran down my spine. I felt the aura of death spreading through the air, thick and suffocating. My heart pounded in my chest, and my palms were slick with sweat. I knew that I was in grave danger.

But then the girl raised her hand. "Let's do a simple test to find out if he is sane or not," she said.

I looked at her in surprise. She seemed calm and collected, even in the face of such danger. Her eyes were clear and intelligent, and her voice was steady.

The archer and the swordsman exchanged a glance. Then the archer sheathed his dagger.

"Fine," he said. "But if he tries to escape, I'll kill him without hesitation."

The girl nodded. "I understand."

In the cursed world where the weak have no rights, my life was worth nothing at that moment. I was feeble and powerless, a pawn in the hands of fate.

Why? Because I was weak.

The weak do not have a choice. They may die because they angered someone, or they may live because someone pitied them. But they have no say in their own destiny.

I was one of the weak. My life was cheap, and I could be snuffed out at any moment. But I would not give up hope. I would fight to survive, even in this cursed world.

The girl sat down in front of me, her eyes filled with pity. "Can you talk?" she asked, a ray of hope in her beautiful red eyes.

I looked at her, my throat dry. I tried to speak, but no words came out. Disappointment flickered across her face.

"Okay, don't worry," she said, patting my head sadly. Then she placed a small stick in front of me. "Draw a circle," she said.

I stared at the stick, my hands trembling. I had never drawn anything in my life. But I knew that I had to try.

I picked up the stick and held it in my hand. I took a deep breath and closed my eyes. I concentrated on the image of a perfect circle in my mind. Then I slowly opened my eyes and began to draw.

My hand was unsteady, and my lines were crooked. But I kept going until I had completed the circle.

I looked up at the girl. She was smiling. "That's perfect," she said.

I felt a surge of relief. I had done it. I had proven to her that I was sane.

Farid's eyes blazed with fury as he glared at me. His voice was thick with hatred, even as he attempted to disguise it as an apology.

"I truly apologize," he spat. "I thought you were just an animal without a mind."

The girl, simply stared at him, her expression unreadable. Then she turned to me and smiled gently.

"I am Fatima," she said. "And I will help you until you reach the city with us. We have fifteen days from here to get there, and during that time, I will be responsible for your care."

I was stunned by her kindness. After all the cruelty I had endured, it was hard to believe that someone would actually want to help me.