Little clouds that, like ravelling skeins of glossy white silk, are drifting across the hollowed turquoise of the autumn sky. The scent of a thunderstorm and snow drifts by closely.

As River walks through the camp, she looks at the common women, noticing a split lip here, a bruise there. One girl, young and otherwise pretty, had a star-burst scar on her forehead where a spear butt had struck. Her stare lingers on their faces long enough to feel an ice finger touch her heart.

She wonders if Hadrius would be as callous and brutal as the men. She expects nothing short of such violence, yet hopes she would not surpass his limits. He held the power in their relationship and should he wake up one day and decide to whip her bloody, neither man nor woman would bat an eyelash at his actions.

River licks her teeth and grits her teeth at the possibility of such a thing happening; she is a slave and mistakes are bound to happen, a spill of wine here, the crease of cloth there... Her mistress was no saint and watched over her like a hawk, sifting for any possible defects. The cane was always tucked by her waist.

River walks on, a small woven basket tucked beneath her arm.

I need to escape, the sudden thought surfaces so quick she draws to a sharp halt. I need to escape, pressure in her mouth causes her muscles to flex and twitch, her heart tumbles in her chest as her gaze flickers towards a narrow dirt path that winds out into the opening.

It was the only exit path as all others either led into the woods or down to the river where men and slaves were on constant lookout. Demurely, she peers over her shoulder. "Too many," she whispers and her shoulders slacken forward with the realization.

She resumes the same path and upon destination, crouches low to gather certain tumbled weeds and odd-looking green plants. The job is tedious but she knows she must do it, despite Hadrius not asking her of it. Perhaps he would take her in favor if she does things he does not ask of - if she is not only swift-footed but swift-minded.

Should he ever find need to draw blood from her, it would not be as fatal.

Maybe even spare her.

Maybe even allow her to lea-

"River?"

The sudden intrusion of another startles River and she flinches, nearly choking on the mouthful of herbs she had been chewing. Anita hovers meters from her, a dirt shawl shielding her hair and neck. She seems sapped, regarding River with puffed red eyes that are bruised beneath.

River begins to speak then hesitates, a flicker of terror humming through her at the faint sight of a purple bruise on Anita's jaw. It stretches down her neck as the shawl briefly comes undone by the stirring of wind, revealing handprint marks, large enough to resemble bears, wrap around her delicate throat.

"What happened to you?" River is rising as Anita approaches her stiffly, wincing with each falling step. She tries to reach for the girl but Anita shakes her head sharply and smiles oilily, "I am fine, it's just-" her dry lips twitch with a spasm of pain, "I need to rest is all."

River's hands lower to her sides and she watches her friend with a sense of helpless despair. Once Anita manages to sit on the earth, River crouches low and picks the glass jar before spitting the crushed herbs inside.

The pasty taste swills around her mouth like sour drinks.

"What did he do?" River finally whispers into the pained pervasive silence.

Anita's throat jerks back and forth as she struggles to swallow, then mutters a breathy tired laugh. "What did he not do?" Her answer, it seems, is enough.

River studies the girl's delicate flower-like face, and the despair that grows inside her churns to hot anger. "We must escape, Ani."

"We cannot."

"But if we leave while everyone else is-"

"We cannot," Anita hissed firmly, her eyes seizing River's with a sudden pointed sharpness. One that tells her to drop it before someone else heard, for the winds carried every word and sound to the beasts. Her eyes soften as they lower to the glass jar in River's hands, half-filled with pasty herbs and her saliva. "Medicine? For who?"

"Hadrius," River explains with an extinguished voice, "he is injured." Though the man had tried to feign indifference to his wound hidden beneath a bandage tainted yellow with pus, it was clear that it pained him if not irritated.

"Did he ask you to do it?"

"No," River muttered, stuffing her mouth with another handful of herbs, she chewed thoroughly, eyes listlessly wandering over the treeline before them.

"You are a good slave, River," Amaya says solemnly, "I hope he does not harm you too bad."

Too bad. River almost chokes on the herbs. She spits them into the jar, lids it and gives it a good, thorough shake. "Let us go back, it is almost dinner time."

Aiding her rising friend, River takes her hand and guides her back onto the soft winding path, glancing over her shoulder longingly and one last time at the dirt road that forked between two hills in the distance. Her freedom.

The hall was ruckus and rowdy, giants of men roaring with laughter as they had their meals served and wines poured. They speak of territorial raids on their way back to the Kingdom but River pays no focus after 'return home'. Her heart lurches at those words, it indicates that she is working against a deadline, the campsite is only temporary shelter.

She bites down on her tongue hard whilst bending before the man she grows to detest, Odin. His hand shifts beneath the table where no one can see and cups the back of her thigh, lifting higher, collecting the hem of her skirt in the process.

He speaks with other generals but the calloused fingers move with rough skilled attention, once his fingers stray along her inner thigh, River jerks back as though his mere touch had stung her. She schools the scowl into indifference, afraid if caught she would be punished.

Escape, Escape, Escape - the words anchor chant in her mind as she passes more men, pours more wine, until her arms grow leaden with effort and her senses tingle with the scent of overripe alcohol.

The night ends with a sigh of relief. Drunkards reel by out of the hall cursing, and chattering to themselves like monstrous apes. Those who are partially sober bark orders for their servants to follow suit, slinging thick arms over their shoulders, nestling their terrifyingly shaking bodies against their sides.

River and a few girls are all that remain, cleaning the hall and scrubbing dishes beneath the moonlight.

Hadrius did not arrive for dinner. She felt relief at that, but also wondered where he spent his time eating if not in the great hall.

Spent and worn out, River makes her way back to the building. The room is empty and cold, windows left open for the wind to disrupt. River eyed the fire hearth nervously; would it be wrong for her to light it? Or would it be indifferent to him? Would he even notice?

River turns away from it and comes to a mirror and leans in towards her reflection. For a moment, her breath mists the gleaming bronze and then it is gone -- her existence in these rooms as fleeting, as insubstantial, as that.

She lies on the divan and with myriads of thoughts amok; did Hadrius expect her to lie awake until his return? Would he even return? Inevitably, her eyelids grow leaded with exhaustion and she turns onto her side, hand pillowed beneath her cheek.

It is the sound of footsteps and a woman's giggling that rouses River. The door creaks open and a shadow fleets into the dark room; "Why is it so dark?" A feminine voice questions, a low growl of nonchalance echoes behind followed by something sharp - a palm striking her behind.

"On the bed," Hadrius' speaks and River's eyes peer open. There is a strange touch of impatience in his voice, so imperceptible River would have missed it had she not have been focusing on him.

The lady moves for the bed, soft rustling sounds as her clothing whispers to the floor. River sees her crawl on all fours, the sway of her seaside hips inviting him to claim her on it. Hadrius takes his time whilst undressing, working the buttons of his dress shirt, the soft swish of his belt coming undone, his pants pooling at his ankles before stepping out.

In the twilight of night, River sees only his back cast by slants of white moonlight. They gleam over his muscles which ripple restlessly, over red and black markings that snake across his skin, the indents and battle scars. The light seems to move with him and he takes her gently from behind at first, matching each long stroke to her drawn moans.

He moves like a creature from a finer world, and she calls his name over and over, lingering with the long-drawn music in her voice, as though it were sweeter than honey.

River's cheeks shadow deep red.

Suddenly, he turns the woman over onto her back. Something he had never done before, and begins to slam into her so quick his body is but a blur in the darkness. She gasps and reaches for him, her long ivory legs quiver at his sides, locking ankles at the base of his spine.

"Oh!" She cries, then seems to catch her breath as his large palm settles on her neck.

River cannot see her figure beneath him, only his behind, but she hears off words. Soft gasping of air that turns violent, "Had-" the woman squeaks out and the hands that once wrapped around his neck now press up into his chest, forcing him away from her.

The flush on River's cheeks begin to fade as the woman bucks like a wild animal beneath him.

Then Hadrius growls - a sudden deadly bass that shakes her bones.

His head dips towards the woman and a sickening snap sound follows shortly after. Her body grows limp instantaneously.

Hadrius sighs and rises, sitting back on his heels.

River stares at the woman's limp limbs, unmoving. Hadrius' own hand moves against his manhood as he finishes himself off above her abdomen.

A terrible silence settles in the room, one where she realizes that he had killed the woman amidst copulating.

"Human," Hadrius' head cocks to the side without glancing over his shoulder at her, "come."