Her wrists were bound tightly behind her back, and she stumbled as he shoved her down the metal ramp of the ship. A slowly brightening sky and green field lay a head of them. The tall grass was above her head, and she squirmed as the itchy strands drug across her face and bare legs. She could see a huge structure in the distance, like a stepped pyramid. The yautja prodded her forward, towards the ominous building. She swallowed thickly, afraid of whatever was to come.

This was to be her eighth owner. Amara had been raped by a younger male before, spoiled and coddled by others. She had been worked, wooed as a mate, beaten to an inch of her life, and spoiled-but her ownership always changed to new hands before long. She resisted and ran away from what she deemed as bad homes. She behaved her best at the good homes, but they still always found her inadequate in some way or another.

Her last owner had been kind to her, but was leaving on a long hunt that he said he may not return from. So her new owner was now in front of her, somewhere inside that ancient-looking dwelling. The yautja behind her was to deliver her to the new home. On the ship, she had asked him what her position would be-slave, pet, servant-but he wouldn't say. Finally out of the tall grass, she spotted fences, pens, and smaller buildings. It looked like a farm of sorts, so she assumed that she'd be a slave again.

Amara was dragging her feet as they neared the front of the house. The stones around the metal door looked like they had been painted in blood-some red symbols, some green. The yautja behind her gave her a shove. It was probably a light shove for a yautja, but for an ooman it was a very big push. With her arms tied and unable to help her, her face slammed into the door.

The male growled, not that it was her fault. Amara stumbled back, but as the door opened, she was roughly pushed forward again. There was no one in front of them, which gave Amara the chills. The door had automatically opened up to let them in. The yautja behind her untied her wrists.

She would have thought that she'd be introduced to her new owner, or even given a tour of the house. As she rubbed her sore wrists and gazed into the shadows though, she heard the delivery guy leave. Amara looked over her shoulder as the door closed, then stepped forward cautiously. She was alone in the dark, and it was making her nervous. Something about the house just didn't seem right.

Amara had lived on clan ships in space, with communal bathrooms and dining rooms. She had lived in the yautja equivalent of a mansion, the walls made out of trophy skulls. This house was different from the rest though, and not in a good way. The walls were plain, and the lighting was so dim that the corners of the room were filled with shadows and she couldn't see to the end of the hallway. The stone floor had scratches, gouges, and stains that made her feel uneasy.

"Hello?" Her small voice echoed around the empty space.

In response, she heard a scraping slide as something shuffled closer. She squinted, her eyes trying to adjust to the darkness, but could only make out a tall and foreboding figure. Something lingered in the hallway, watching her. Even without any visible details, she knew it had to be a yautja, and not another slave. Amara fidgeted with the fraying edges of her shorts as she stood in front of the door, an increasing sense of danger flooding in on her.

A deep and raspy voice spoke up, "Pyode amedha, ye."

Amara knew the dog-commands well: come, sit, stay, lay down. Ye meant 'come'. She stepped forward cautiously, head down, as to make sure that she did not look like she was going to challenge him. Her blue eyes stared down at his big reptilian feet, afraid to look up. Some yautjas didn't mind if she looked them in the eyes because she was female-others, would pummel her for it.

"Pyode amedha, zaakee." The dark form in the slowly turned like a rooted tree, and began to slowly disappear down the hallway.

She was pretty sure he meant for her to follow. She took an unsteady breath and walked after him. From behind, she was less shy about staring. His skin looked like an eerie pale gray, and his back was covered with deep lacerations. Around his shoulders was a thick, black fur stole.

They ascended stairs, then he shoved open a door with deep scratches down the metal. They looked like claw marks. He grunted, and she tentatively skirted in front of him to enter the room. It looked like a dungeon cell, with a single fur to sleep on and a hole to piss over. She glanced behind her to see him approaching her, and Amara quickly recoiled.

He was hideous. In the middle of the room where there was the most orange glow from the lights, she could finally make out his features. His eyes were a piercing gold, sunken in his skull and thickly outlined in black skin. Short, thin, black pikes lined his jaws and his cheeks. One of his tusks in his mouth was missing, and on the other side, his lower mandible was partially severed.

He held out a thin metal collar, and Amara steeled her nerves. She didn't budge as his black claws came uncomfortably close to her face, and clicked the plain collar around her throat. She stared at his clawed feet again as he produced another metal device, this time fastening it around her wrist. Her breathing kicked up a notch as he lingered. Amara slowly shuffled back a step. After a moment, his feet shifted and he left the room without a word.