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The survivors were placed in metal cages where the heathens could openly leer at them, appreciating the goods before they were sold. The young warrior called Lakas looked incredibly silly with parchment and quill in his bloody hands, and his annoyed look did not escape her when he was tasked to make an inventory of the slaves.

"Name?"

While the prisoners around her sobbed and wailed for their losses, Enna merely tried to make herself small in a corner. She never spoke. She never raised her head.

Lakas snatched her chin. He was scowling. "Name?"

When she refused to answer, the bald man behind Lakas growled before backhanding her. "Stupid girl! Tell us your name so that we can be done with this sham and leave!"

Elbows shaking, she sat up, gazing at them with tired silvery eyes. Still, she did not open her mouth.

"You – "

Lakas stopped the man with a wave. "Drop it. I will simply write Silver."

The man smirked. "Yes, a name befitting a horse."

They could call her whatever they want. Why