A/N: Cazaril adjusts to life as a slave, violence.
The first lash is the worst.
He doesn't even know what he's done wrong. Perhaps it's just a whim of his oar-master. He whips him five or seven times, not enough to make him pass out but enough to render every motion miserable. He doesn't strike deep, but Cazaril definitely feels the wounds keenly with every stroke of his oar.
Cazaril has thought that he knew misery from Gotorget. Before now he thought his skin was leathery and his tolerance for hunger and pain was much higher than that of the average man. But that was nothing compared to this.
The salt from his sweat mixes with the blood that he can feel congealing on his back, which was already red and blistering from constant sun exposure. It burns his open wounds. Of course, he knows there will be no physician to aid him; even Gotorget had physician, at least for the first few months of the siege.
He cannot stop, even for a moment. Any show of weakness will only lead to more lashings. The sole rule is that the slaves be able to paddle; the Roknari have no cares about how much agony they live through.
On the march from Gotorget to the Roknari galleys, Cazaril had not allowed himself to think of what his life as a slave would be. The guards had treated all the Chalionese soldiers rather humanely during the journey. There was adequate food and water, rest stops during the day, a decent amount of time for sleep. He has supposed since his time on the ship that their masters wanted them as strong as possible before the real hardships began.
Slowly the sting of his lacerations blends with the ache of his muscles. He considers the contrasting tones of the pain. It's almost artistic, really. They work in harmony; as the ache subsides, the sting crescendos and vice versa. His thoughts continue dreamily in that direction, but he wrenches his mind from the admiring contemplation of his suffering.
He refuses to be broken within a week of his new life. The Roknari may savage his body, may breed more pain than he ever imagined was possible, may scar him for life. But they will not drive him mad. He has no earthly idea how long he will be a slave here, but he makes a solemn vow before the five gods to whom he had prayed so desperately on that night that he will keep body and soul together.