Risley

Risley was a werewolf, sporting wolf ears and a tail. After being captured, the traders brought him to the black market, displaying him as merchandise. His body was scarred and worn by ropes. He knelt, bound and fearfully eyeing the people passing by. The scent of fear hung in the air, mingling with the smells of sweat and metal. Passersby glanced at him sideways, whispering among themselves, assessing his worth. Risley's eyes burned with a mixture of anger and despair. The slave shackles chilled his wrists, and the heavy collar dug into his neck, reminding him of his helplessness.

Suddenly, a man in a black cloak, his face hidden by a hood and mask, emerged from the crowd. He stopped in front of Risley and looked at him with curiosity, piercing the veil of fear. This look was different from the others—it held something incomprehensible, perhaps even hope. The merchant immediately rushed up to the stranger, offering his wares with a leering smile and boasting of their unique properties. The stranger raised his hand, demanding silence, and approached.

"What is your name?" the man asked Risley quietly.

The werewolf looked up, meeting a stern but strangely understanding gaze. His lips barely moved as he whispered:

• Risley...

The man in the black cloak stood for a moment, pondering something important, and then pulled a thick wallet full of bills from his pocket. The merchant, noticing his intentions, was already rubbing his hands in anticipation of the deal. But what would happen next, Risley could only guess...