I thought I'd grovel and dig my nails into the dirt before I ever returned to the City. I came to this military camp to survive— something that I barely managed when I was living off odd jobs.

Now, I am going back.

I don't think The General realizes how skinny I get when I'm rolling in starvation, how my menstrual cycles stop coming from malnutrition, how begging for food or work takes so much mental strain that I become a zombie. It's no wonder the Zolano think I'm such an ugly alien. I practically become a living corpse.

I will survive. I always do, even if I do it fruitfully in some places than others.

There's nothing for me in this camp, and I'm not offering anything but distractions. I need to move on and let the camp focus on the war.

With my few belongings in a bag made of hay, I sit on the cold floor of my tent and I stare at Yippy. He's happily sleeping on the ground, unaware that I'm fighting another mental battle. They tend to be frequent nowadays.

I can't take this cute ball of fur with me. He wouldn't be happy in a loud, smelly, stripped city. The wild is his home, just like War's.

My cheek is resting atop my right knee. Tears roll down the valley between my thighs, creating a stream that doesn't seem to end. The front of my dress is wet. It usually is when I'm around War, but today it's wet for the wrong reason— sadness, not excitement.

It's dark outside, and the only proof of my sadness comes from the candle that burns to illuminate the way. I've been sitting in the same position since War dismissed me to my tent and I packed my few things. My back aches from being bent in the awkward position for so long.

I crave War's huge, comforting hands, but my back won't feel them ever again. Neither will my hips, thighs, and lips. I will never be touched by a male as magnificent as him. War created an ache within me; a satisfaction that can only be fulfilled by him. He has been up my center, in my mouth, in my hands. His dimensions have been mapped into my skin. It's impossible to map another man.

The sunlight creeps into my tent slowly. I watch it consume my bag, and eventually my feet. I can't hide from it. A new day has begun, and it leads me on a trip.

Approaching footsteps bring a stutter to my chest. At first I imagine The General is here to ask me to stay, but I soon realize there are too many footsteps for this to be just him, and that I would have to deny him even if he came.

"Servant," one master speaks from outside. "We are here to escort you to the City. We must go now. Rain is coming."

I stand up and eye Yippy. I don't want him to wake and follow me out. He has to stay and return to the wild.

My fingers ache to caress him, but I can only force myself to gab my bag and silently walk outside.

Five Masters await me. Four of them are riding atop scaly beasts called Yonmis that are only ridden into battle or far travels.

"I will lift you now," one Master warns.

I hug my bag to my chest to hide my stiffness. The only arms I feel comfortable in are War's.

My hips are taken, and I'm lifted atop this four-foot tall beast I no experience riding. Thankfully, a leather cover was thankfully tossed over its back to protect my thighs from chafing.

"Hold tight. We are going now."

I don't reply. My eyes are locked on my tent, which I will never see again. Will its next owner be good to it?

We ride in silence for hours. I'm in the middle, surrounded by these massive males who ride under the sun in full battle gear. Their boots tap against the beast's side, their pant-clad strong thighs remain stiff, and the weapons in their hands gleam.

Masters always ride with one hand on reins and the other holding a blade. I can only imagine War riding. If he charged at me with a sword in his hands, I would open my arms to embrace his violence. Already, I miss him.

I try to distract myself by planning the next steps. How will I feed myself? Before joining camp, I worked as the maid of a peddler. He paid a laughable wage, but he didn't leer or give me back-breaking work. I'm not sure how I'll find him again. Peddlers travel from city to city, and Zolan doesn't have Facebook where I can simply look him up.

Other than that, I don't have many options.

The rain comes when we pass through the ruins of an old temple. It's in the middle of the jungle, overtaken by nature. The light rain plasters my clothes to my skin, and the ripped leather jacket I toss over my shoulders doesn't do a good job of keeping me dry.

I'm wet and cold, but at least the rain hid the single tear that fell from my eye when I looked over my shoulder for the dozenth time and didn't see War coming after me.

We pause at mid-day in a valley that oversees a small town. The Master that leads the expedition swings off his beast and crunches the mud under his heavy boots.

"Eat." He lifts a meaty protein bar. None of the Masters have eaten. They're dispersed around me, keeping watch.

I take the protein bar with a "thanks" and I bite into it. I eat half, and then store the rest because I don't know when I'll get my hands on food again.

We continue on and stumble into a pack of wild wolf-like creatures that are cut down by the Masters before I can even shiver in fear. The men don't even have to dismount to slaughter them.

We ride until night, when the lights of the city fill the horizon and welcome me to hell.

Eyes far and wide look in our direction when we cross the gates of the city. The Masters are respected, feared, and lusted for. I don't think anyone can see me over the gigantic frames that surround me.

I can only wonder what the reactions would be if civilians saw War walk into the city. Would they fall to their knees and worship him? I nearly did when I first crossed him.

"We will take you to an orphanage, unless you have another destination in mind," the leading Master says. His voice is as monotone as ever. He's uneffected by the attention.

The orphanage? It may be a good plan. I worked there once, and although they fired me because my appearance scared the kids, the supervising lady was nice to me.

"I understand."

It doesn't take much to find the orphanage. It's in the second district, where trading and merchants bring a heartbeat to the city. There is so much chatter there that it sometimes distracts me from my own thoughts— a welcomed change.

We stop outside the orphanage, and I see curious young, round, little faces peer out the multicolored windows on the building.

A master swings me off my beast, places a pouch on my left hand and my bag on my right, and then all five of them ride out back to War's camp.

I watch them go, already hearing whispers rile up.

"What is she?"

"Why does she look like that?"

I lived in this city for years, but I still haunt it like horror folklore.