The piece of meat dropped at his feet smelled of iron and campfire smoke. The omega leaned down slowly, fingers shaking as he picked it up, feeling the sticky wetness in his palms. He brought the meat to his lips and carefully sank his teeth into it, tearing off a small, jagged piece. The fibers of the flesh were tough, stringy, and each piece took effort to swallow. His stomach was clenched from the first meal in a long time, but he forced himself to continue, swallowing the flesh as if his life depended on it. And in a way, it did. He didn't know when his next meal would come.
Nausea rose in his throat, but he fought it down, clenching his teeth until they creaked. Each chewing motion sent a pain through his belly, the muscles of which had forgotten what it was like to be full. The food that he had been deprived of for so long now seemed hostile, but hunger, all-consuming and merciless, demanded its own.
Suddenly a short, sharp sound rang out in the air - it was a man's voice.
"Name."
A simple word, but its weight was such that the omega jumped up, barely holding the precious piece of meat in his hands. His heart began to beat in his chest at a furious speed, burning his ribs. He was afraid to look up, afraid to see how predatory the alpha's gaze would become if he slowed down his answer.
"I have no name," he squeezed out in a whisper, lowering his head even lower, as if hoping to disappear.
The silence stretched out for long heartbeats. It seemed that the forest around him had fallen silent, listening to their strange, gloomy scene. Finally, a short nod. There was neither surprise nor sympathy on the man's face. Just confirmation of the fact.
"Eat," the order sounded again, even, like throwing a stone into water.
The Omega again plunged into a monotonous, mechanical movement: bite, chew, swallow. There was cold meat in his hands, a lump of pain in his stomach, and an emptiness in his head.
When the remains of the fire slowly turned into smoldering coals, and the air was saturated with the heavy smell of smoke, the alpha stood up. His movements were confident, precise, not requiring a second of thought or objection. The Omega barely had time to raise his head when he felt himself grabbed by the collar of his shirt and lifted from the ground. Without ceremony, like a sack of rags, he was thrown into the cart.
The boards hit his back, knocking out his breath. He coughed, clasping his hands on his chest, until a heavy silhouette landed next to him. The cart creaked under their weight, swayed, and began its painful movement along the bumpy forest road.
Omega pressed himself into the corner again, trying to become part of the tree. The shaking of the cart hammered pain into his body with every jolt, every sharp movement responded in the strained muscles with flashes of fire. He felt sticky sweat accumulating under his shoulder blades, but he did not dare even move.
Omega really had nothing on except a shirt, so his entire body was penetrated by hellish pain.
Alpha sat opposite him like a statue radiating menace even in inaction. His face was hidden by a shadow, but one glance was enough to understand: every nerve in his body was on guard, ready to act at any moment.
Fatigue was pressing on, pressing on his eyelids, on his mind. Omega nodded off, barely restraining himself from collapsing right there, on the dirty boards. However, fear was stronger than fatigue. He felt that if he closed his eyes, if he lost control even for a moment, it could be the end of him.
He fought with himself, his fingers clutching the worn fabric, when the Alpha's low, commanding voice rang out again, like the sharp crack of a whip.
"Sleep."
One word. It was an order that brooked no argument.
The Omega froze, his breathing ragged. He dared to look up and saw in the darkness only the cold, impassive expression of his master's face. There was no threat of immediate violence. But there was no hint of concern either.
"The journey will be long," the Alpha added, as if passing a final sentence.
The Omega did not answer. He slid down slowly, picked up the cloak lying nearby, soaked in someone else's scent. The Alpha never took it. He covered himself with it, trying to hide from the world, although he knew perfectly well that there was no shelter, no salvation.
Sleep came in fits and starts, in painful waves. The cart rattled, the wheels bounced on the potholes, and each time he shuddered with his whole body, afraid that his slumber would be punished. Sometimes it seemed to him that someone's silhouette was leaning over him, that someone's gaze was burning right through him. Then he would open his eyes abruptly, but he saw only darkness and the motionless alpha, sitting as before, silent, alien.
Hours passed or just a few agonizing minutes - he did not know. Time lost its meaning. There was only the way forward, the wheels, the creaking of the cart and the cold, sticky weight of horror inside.
And all this time he remembered: he no longer belonged to himself.
He belonged to this man.
And no sleep, no fatigue and no pathetic dreams of freedom could change that.
The road was really long. And what lay ahead had no end, no salvation.