Holding Pens
Kaegan sighed heavily, leaning his back against the wall, splinters digging through the thin fabric of his shirt. Lolling his head against the coarse wood of his pen to gaze blearily at the ceiling, he blinked the sweat from his eyes, lifting his bound hands to wipe along his brow. He winced when he readjusted his legs, knees sore from being ordered to kneel for so long, and stretched his legs out in front of him, rotating his ankles in their shackles.
He was uncomfortable, to say the least. Kaegan was thirsty; he licked at his dry lips just to make sure his tongue wasn’t glued to the roof of his mouth. His shirt was damp with sweat, clinging to his chest as if it were a second skin. Kaegan brushed away the curls sticking to his forehead and exhaled harshly through his nose, frustrated.
The commotion from the other slaves buzzed in his ears; some defiant, others pleading. Kaegan closed his eyes and began to hum in an effort to tune everything out.