Brief mentions to rape. Warning: this chapter is a bit mature content, in that children may not grasp some of these certain concept. Viewer discretion is advised.

Raistlin lifted his curly chestnut topped head to show a strained face. Beads of sweat covered his forehead and upper lip, and his cheeks were flushed. He did not, could not know that the tests would be this hard. His first task was to move a mansions worth of blocks into a mid-sized crate. One wrong placement could cost him valuable time, as he had only until nightfall to move them. It was probably nearing onto lunchtime, and he had only put a third of the blocks into the wooden crate. He would work with the Earth-master, the tall figure that had fetched him from breakfast, for the next fortnight. If this is the first task, he thought to himself, then I may rightly have to move the entire land of Krynn closer to Silvanesti. Then, with a grumble, he lifted another heavy block into the crate, hoping he had set it right.

What Caramon had found, nothing could prepare him for. Years of death, battles, injuries and other assorted niceties had surrounded him. He had fought, and killed, all sorts of evilry; he had watched many he knew die horrible and painful deaths, but this, this could not be equalled. He stumbled down a small path, probably meant for the slave children to dart around and play upon, possibly a good hiding place, as Caramon noticed the tall trees that would be easy to climb and the fallen logs it would be simple to hide behind. He also noticed deep ruts in the ground, and with a smile, recalled his own childhood attempts at "hiding". He soon noticed a change in the path, it became narrower and less well marked. Then to his horror, he noticed small pools of blood and rushed footprints in the ground, where there was dirt. They were quite small, perhaps a childs or even a young maidens, and were somewhat twisted, as if the person were looking behind them. It was quite clear that this person was being chased. He followed these footsteps deeper into the forest, beginning to hear again the sobbing noise that had brought him in here. He soon began to run, as the cries became louder, ignoring the branches and thick foliage that whipped about his face. He stumbled once over the root of a tree, but ignored the tug it gave him and flew on past. He ran so hard, he barely noticed a change in the thickness of the forest. He came upon a clearing, and what he saw there set him aback.

Raistlin set the last block into the crate, feeling it scrape upon the edges of the other rocks. A tight fit, but it went in. He walked over to where the Earth master was splayed out upon the ground, sleeping. He had grown bored of watching his newest pupil. Raistlin reached out and poked out at the master with his foot. He recoiled his foot immediately, as a feirce pain tore at his leg. Raistlin's knees gave way and he felt himself plummeting to the ground. He writhed about in agony, the Earth master appearing into his tear clouded field of vision. Tears streamed down his cheeks as the master called upon the Forgotten Gods to heal his leg, and, all the while, chastising Raistlin for spurning him with his foot. Raistlin's pain subsided as the magic took some of the injury away. As soon as the pain had permitted him to speak, he asked the Earth master why it hurt him when he had attempted to wake him. The answer was a simple, " I am the Earth master, that is why." Raistlin felt that this was not thorough enough, however, he left it alone. Together, they walked the long walk back towards the Tower, Raistlin hoping that they would get there before supper was served, feeling a nearly insatiable hunger.

Caramon, however, did not care if he would ever eat again. He cradled the bloody figure in his arms, tears streaming down his face from the monstrosity of this poor thing. It had felt ages since he had come upon the scene in the clearing, however, it had not even been a full hour. He would never forget it, describing it late into his life. He had plummeted into the clearing, and as was his keen training, he looked around the clearing. Truly beautiful, rich emerald-foliaged trees surrounded the clearing. The grass was a rich green shade, and here and there was the odd flowering bush visible among the trees. Running along one edge of the clearing was a crystal blue trickle. There was a large grey boulder, about the size of a small horse. Crouched at its base was a small mishapen figure. He guessed it was a girl by the length of the matted chestnut-colored hair that hid her face. She was crouched in a small ball, and loud cries of intense sadness erupted from the ball every once in a while. She obviously had not yet seen him. As he approched her, the state of her dress became clearer, and he shuddered. She wore what must have once been a wonderful dress. As he neared, he could see that it was once white, now made a cream color by sweat, dirt and lord knows what else. Suddenly, her head shifted towards where he was standing, and he was taken far aback. Her hair had once hidden the back of her dress, but, now it had moved and it revealed a whip-torn dress, and her back was bloody and torn, whip marks covering scars over scars. Who could this girl be?! Her face was dirty. She was so young, Gods, just out of a childhood. This torture must have been happening during her toddler years for those scars to be true. Her eyes brimmed with tears, and as she looked up at him, she cringed. "Please, don't hurt me! Don't whip me today. Tomorrow. I will pay you. Don't hurt me.." She whispered pitifully, her words full of choked tears. She came near him, and grabbed onto his calf. Her fingers traced up to his inner thighs before he could grab her hands away from him. He whispered to her, "How could I hurt you such as this? Who has done this? I shall rip them to peices...I am here, I will keep you safe. My child..." He whispered these last two words to her over and over, as he rocked her in his lap, holding her, wiping her tears and his until they both had no more. He then brought her to the small stream, wiping the dirt and tears from her face. She had clear ivory skin, light blue eyes, and rather childish features. He aided her in removing her dress and casting it aside like an evil memory. He ripped a large chunk off the bottom, and tried to bathe the wounds as best he could. He found she had evil nail marks on her belly, as if she had been raped. The insides of her legs were bruised, and there were forceful bite marks around her nipples. She couldn't have been more than ten years old! There were deep cuts in her arms and a couple of deep scars around her wrists, where it was obvious she had before tried to remove herself from her misery. But the worst damage was located from the bottom of her hairline to the top of her calves. The recent wounds were located on her back, and scars riddled the other areas. There were deep white ones covered by fresher red and brown ones. Caramon, disgusted, tried to hold back another wave of tears. He then removed his large shirt and gave it to the girl. He carried her back through the brush, to the main trail. Just as he rounded a corner, Freya was coming onto that same path. "Where have you been, you lazy boy?" Freya shreiked.

Caramon, furious with this silly little man, ignored him. He brushed past Freya with the girl in his hands. Freya gaped behind Caramon, befrazzled that he had just blown him off. He tried to yell something, but all that came out was gibber. He was flabberghasted, and for one moment in his life, was quiet.

If you thought this chapter was deep, then wait till you see the next one. The plot shall thicken. May your swords stay sharp!