“Bac tilak!” the man sitting next to Caerwulf said again.
Caerwulf just shrugged. “I don’t speak your language.”
“Bac! Bac! Tilak!” the other shouted, and shoved Caerwulf away.
“He wants you to move,” said a voice four or five people away.
“Well, wouldn’t that be nice?” Caerwulf said sarcastically. He turned to the man who shoved him. “And where exactly would you like me to go, huh?” He rattled his chains in swooping motions for emphasis, which moved the chains and the arms of his neighbors as well. “We’re not going anywhere, you fool.”
The man mumbled something in his unknown language and tried to lean away from Caerwulf. Caerwulf glared at him then turned back to the only one he could converse with.
“How’d they get you?” Caerwulf asked him.
“Same way they get all of us,” the man began. “Marched into our village, killed our defenders with those sticks of theirs, the ones that shoot fire and metal balls, and take away the strong men.”
Caerwulf had heard about these kinds of raids many times, but he had never seen them before. The lizard people came from the south years ago and had devastated the country ever since. Everyone who was taken away never came back. Those weapons, their tools, their ships… these creatures were very advanced.
“Hey! I said what about you?”
Caerwulf shook his head. “I was… alone.”
The man nodded. “Now it’s over. Sorry kid, you look young. I hate to see a life wasted.”
Caerwulf just stared back. He wasn’t afraid to die, not after everything he’d been through.
“Where do they take us when they kill us?”
The man grunted a small laugh. “You think you’re here to be executed?”
“What other reason could there be?” Caerwulf asked.
“You’re a slave now, son.”
Caerwulf turned away and leaned his head back against the walls of the rolling cart. “From living on the streets, to prison, to slavery. Why does it always happen to me?”
(The word prompt today was “Move.”)