"I heard," Tarvek gasped, forcing the words through his clenched teeth. "I heard, master. Forgive me."
"Forgive you?" The overseer laughed, a sound like grinding metal. "I'll forgive you after you learn your place."
The whip came down again. And again. And again.
Tarvek stopped counting after the fifth strike. His back was on fire, his vision blurring from pain and the tears he couldn't stop from forming.
The pickaxe had fallen from his hands. He was on all fours now, reduced to an animal.
"Please," he whispered, hating himself for begging but unable to stop. "Please, I'll work harder. I'll…"
The whip rose for another strike.
And then blood showered across Tarvek's face.
It sprayed like a geyser. It filled his mouth, his eyes, soaking into his tattered clothes with a warmth that was shocking against the perpetual cold.
For a moment, Tarvek couldn't process what had happened. The whip hadn't landed. The pain hadn't increased. Instead, there was just... blood.
