8
Roark
The chains around my wrists had worn through flesh to bone and a fever raged in my blood. My restraints were affixed to a heavy wooden post that ran the length of the Drovers’ tent. I’d been beaten and starved, tortured for days, and still the Drovers had not revealed the reason for their attack, nor what they wanted from me.
I was surprised I still lived. The Drovers were not known for taking prisoners. Nor for torture. They preferred to strike and run. To kill indiscriminately, leaving no survivors. Ransom, perhaps? I heard of no other prisoners, saw none. I had to assume I’d been the only one caught. But why? Why was I still alive?
Something had changed, something fundamental to the future of my people. If the Drovers were employing new tactics, I needed to figure out why. I
