"Move, you wretch, aren't you supposed to not need any rest?! Take those buckets where I told you!"
Immediately after, Yesenia felt a well-aimed kick to her back, which made her stumble, but she quickly went to complete the task. Her constantly chained hands caused occasional cuts from the chains around her wrists, but at least that pain distracted her from reality. Every day was a relentless torture. A slave to a modest band of men who had kidnapped her at least a generation ago. But they were big, those bastards, and she had never managed to successfully escape. They treated her little better than how one cares for a cow: filthy, wounded, exploited.

On good days, Yesenia would hum her mother's songs as she fetched water for the small camp. Water. It was so wonderful. Always fresh and sharp for the first few seconds, then it gave way to a sense of release. Not to mention how much relief it brought to her wounds.
The wounds stung her incessantly, a burning sensation that eventually spread throughout her body, even reaching her head, clouding her mind. They barely let her stay still, and the dirty iron chains only worsened the condition of the cuts.
Water and the forest, with its kind inhabitants, were probably the only things that had kept her alive until then. Maybe some memories. Some faint caresses in her tired mind. Her parents had been cowardly slaughtered, deceived, and she had been taken purely for mockery. She missed her mother, she missed her father. And there wasn't a day, in the first fifty years, where she didn't cry for them.
The weight of the heavy wooden buckets, along with the chains on her hands and feet, probably weighed more than her entire body combined. She was almost never set free; she might have tried to escape. She would go to the nearby stream to fill the buckets, with the incessant smell of mold and dampness emanating from them. She was sweating, yet she felt cold. Her bare feet were frozen, but at least it helped prevent the pain from her ankles from spreading to her soles, which were covered in blisters and cuts. She leaned against a rock while the buckets filled up, and washed her face with the fresh, clean water.
That had been pure luck; she hadn't seen such a clean stream in months. She drank as much as she could, her empty stomach seemingly insatiable. Frightened by her delay, she returned with the buckets. A wrinkled, vile-faced woman told her to go clean the horse for their imminent departure. Those beautiful creatures seemed so imposing, or maybe it was just her, thin and malnourished as she was, who looked like a crumb in comparison to them. She still remembered the one time she ate an apple that was meant for the horses: they had whipped her to the point of bleeding for an entire night. She nearly died, in the filth and indifference, but miraculously those wounds healed, even though they still hurt.

Three of the men passed by her, giving her hard slaps on the backside. Although it certainly wasn't the first time, it always made her want to cry. She had been violated in the crudest, most ruthless, and shameless ways. But she couldn't believe that all of humanity could be like this. Otherwise, what would make them any different from the orcs they despised? Her head throbbed incessantly. She hadn't eaten in two days since supplies had run out, and the next raid was imminent. With every hit they made, she prayed in her heart to be killed. There were many times when hope had faltered, and the strong desire to reunite with her loved ones in peace seemed the most alluring option of all.

But while Yesenia contemplated the benefits of death, fate had something very different in mind for her. A path to ruin? To redemption? She wouldn't find the answer for many centuries, but everything began when the improbable happened that day: A massive pack of orcs had tracked them down and was attacking. Yesenia was shocked. They had disappeared from Middle-earth since Morgoth was defeated. While the men and a few women fought in vain, Yesenia seized the opportunity to escape without even thinking about being killed by orcs. She started running with all the strength her body could muster. She still remembers the pine needles stabbing her bare feet, the cold morning air, her lungs aching from running, the coughing, the faint metallic taste of blood.

She ran as if she knew exactly where her destination was. Until there was silence, she stopped, and everything went dark. Then, light again, the sun's rays were so warm and comforting that they made her smile for a while. Had the moment finally come? She could hear her mother calling her. "Nana," her trembling voice, just like the arm reaching for the light.

"Here they are! Run! Hurry!" The voice of a woman interrupted what seemed like the long-awaited passing of the elf. As a figure approached her, she couldn't see it clearly, her vision had blurred, and the images seemed to blend together. "Hey? Are you alright? Come on!" The figure turned into two, and as soon as they touched her, she flinched. "It's okay. Stay calm. It's over. You're safe."

Yesenia didn't have time to think before everything went dark again. And she didn't care about anything anymore. She didn't care about anyone anymore.