Mitra had been out hunting when they caught them. Of course they knew of the risks, every single one of them knew to stay out of the way of traders’ caravans when they came through the desert and yet… here they were, uncomfortably in a small cage, strapped to a camel’s side and bumping into the furry body with each swaying step it took. And of course they had to fall into the hands of traders who knew their business, knew enough to inject them with the antidote that’d make stinging anything virtually useless. Silently, Mitra fumed. What had the old ones told them over and over again, when they were still small and buried under the hot desert sand? If they catch you, you’re dead. They will bring you into the big city and have you fight against each other in a life-or-death struggle until you die. There were no stories of escapees in their lore. If they caught you, you were dead.