The desire to vomit that had been present nearly the whole time he had been talking to the men was making itself known at higher levels. Ever since Kyle's associate said the words, "flesh peddler", Karl had to use all his will power not to throw up on them and himself. His constant swallowing came of a nervous anticipation and the slight cringe in his stature came off as shame. Which, Karl, thought, was exactly on the spot.

After shopping Karl didn't have a lot of money, nor did he have much in the first place. So, this was going to be a short negotiation one way or the other. He thought briefly about attempting to kill them, but even three shabby men would be a tough call.

"I think I've got about five small pieces of silver left to my name", he said while he felt around in his pocket. He felt ashamed for so many reasons at that point, but the fact that he didn't have much money to speak of was acutely painful. His old dream of a semi-prosperous farm dried up after the first season.

However as soon as he said that he saw the men straighten up a bit. He clearly over offered. Karl quickly counted four silver pieces with his hand in his pocket. He opened his hand before the men and said, "oh I guess I have less than I thought after visiting town".

Kyle's mate jumped in, "you know wur being more than generous, but from one vet to another we'll go with what you got since this thing is probably worth way more than four."

Karl knew that was false. The chances were low that even if he managed to get this gal up and moving, she might never be worth anything. What was he even thinking? Just moving forward from second to second. Like combat conditions.

Karl passed the slim pieces of metal and thought about peoples worth for a second. He squatted down tried to figure how he was going to get her up. Even in her emaciated state she looked - he searched for a word - dense. Since he was not a stranger to wounded in battle, he moved in front of her and slid he arms under hers and around her back.

He whispered in her ear, "I am going to help you get up, but I need some help from you. I going to get you out of here". He had to push her matted hair away from his face as some of the vomit he had held back finally came out. Taking a deep breath was a bad idea, but she looked like it was going to a lifting challenge. He found his balance and grip pulled her up hearing his joints popping while the filthy men laughed at his efforts.

He said loudly, "lock your knees!" She managed to stay up right with his hand on her shoulder.

"Do you have lock or something keeping her here?"

"Nah her mind went away a long time ago, we stopped bothering."

There was a leather thong around her wrists and neck. He gently pulled on them to see if she would move without any other motivation and it worked. He started walking down the camp back to the main road where he had left the cart and Bunny.

"See you fellows. Thanks again." His goodbye was met with wet laughter.

Karl really hadn’t wanted her to get in the cart because she smelled so bad, but he was worried that she would fall over dead.  But he was conflicted.  He didn’t want to show any weakness to the other men, but his heart was gutted.  No one should be treated this way.  With some internal debate he decided to use a rope from the cart to her wrist thong. He kept Bunny moving as slow as possible, so the Orc lady did not stumble.

After an hour he pulled over to the side of the road where there was a creek.  He untied the rope from her thong.  He worked at removing the thong, but the removal pulled skin and caused more damage. He wondered how long it had been on her.  She showed no sign of running or any sign of pain while he did his work.  He grabbed some soap and canvas and moved her down to the water. 

Her thick, black hair was tangled into dreadlocks filled with blood, mud and whatever filth had accumulated over her time with the men.  He thought he would start there and work his way down.  His heart filled with revulsion for her situation.  He had her lay down in a shallow pool of water and was pleased to see that she was able to drink when the level got near mouth.  Not knowing much about Orc physiology, he could only guess about her resilience.  And what she could tolerate.  He had seen men survive the worst wounds just because they kept carrying on long after they should have died.

He rubbed the soap carefully around her face first and tried to be careful where the skin was broken.  Her prominent lower tusks seemed to be in good shape, but the rest of her face appeared to be used as a punching bag.  Swollen and distorted, but still showing a handsome and powerful structure.  No slim flower, this one!

He made his attempt with the hair but gave up thinking that he was going to have to cut it off anyway.  It was far too knotted and contained so much filth it would take too much time to sort it out.  

He sat her up to start on her back and pondered the scars.  Was this from the men?  Was this from the battles? Was this from her childhood?  He knew the Orcs could be fierce to their own, but this seemed out of scope.  He decided to be angry at the men.

He kept whispering to the woman, telling her what he was doing in hopes to keep her calm.  He was opening old wounds that weren’t healing due to her bad or no nutrition and lack of care. However, nothing he did appeared to make a change in her thousand-yard stare.  

He had worked with animals and learned his lessons.  He was very careful.