Life is cruel in these parts. The poor had no choice but to compromise their dignity, and their own family, to eke out a livelihood.
Selling children was far more common than one might expect. Of course, the same was not true for the girl. Ignorant as she was, her mind went numb as she was led by her father toward the carriage, where a stout man stood.
From the looks alone, it can be seen he was strong, far stronger than her father. "How is she?" Her father asked the man, as he wiped the dirt off his daughter's face. Completely oblivious of her broken state of mind at this point.
And in this dark, with barely any illumination from the stars above and the lantern on the carriage, none noticed the blood or injury on the girl, all they cared about was her facial structure and the slaver nodded. "She is a fine one." There was no question over why there was mud on her face, there were no surprises over her lack of struggle. She was, as they say, a walking dead.
